Fragments
by XMistressChaosx
Summary: At the age of eight Cato is presented a servant slave that will attend to his every need and/or whim. At the age of six Peeta Mellark is sold to the Scipio's and given to the eldest male child. In doing so, their destinies become intertwined. T-M
1. The Beginning

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or any recognizable characters. That belongs to Suzanne Collins. Not that I want to own the Hunger Games, I dislike the book and fail to see the hype surrounding it. Yes, shocker. I know that means I'm really crazy for writing a _Hunger Games_ fanfiction. Blame my English Teacher for making me read the damn thing!**

**Pairings: Cato/Peeta, minor Cato/Clove, mentions of Peeta/Hannibal(OC of mine)**

**Warnings: Future _Crappy_ Sex Scenes between two extremely attractive men... Don't worry though, Mr. Depp still holds my heart. ^^', OCs.**

**Summary: At the age of eight Cato is presented a servant(slave) that will attend to his every need and/or whim. At the age of six Peeta Mallark sold to the Scipio's and given to the eldest male child. In doing so, their destinies become intertwined. These will be fragments of their life from Peeta's POV until the end of the Hunger Games. Slash! AU!Universe.**

**Chapters: 10+**

**...**

**I really should stop starting stories before I finish the others I have. Ugh, I hate being a writer... and I hate liking yaoi... just kidding! XD**

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**Fragments**

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**Chapter 1**

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The sky is painted a midnight purple with twinkling stars poking through. A luminescent crescent moon hangs high in the sky. Nothing dares disturb the peaceful night, nothing but a middle-aged woman who stands in the middle of a cobblestoned street. A crying child near her feet. The woman stares distastefully at the small child whom is only six.

"... Mommy -, " the word barely makes it out of his mouth before a harsh slap resounds through the air. The child holds his aching cheek. His shoulders hunch forward and whimpers escape his mouth.

"I told you to never call me that!" She hisses at the child who flinches at the cold tone. The woman glares once more before her icy blue eyes flit around her surroundings, searching the shadows. "Where are they?" She mutters under her breath, irritated. She wants to go home to her loving husband and two wonderful boys but first she had to deal with this vermin. He was nothing more than a mistake thrust upon her and a constant reminder of her foolhardy weakness.

No matter, she thought sadistically, he would be out of mind soon enough. Without him, there would be no more reason for those whispers that constantly surrounded her family. No more accusing stares from their fellow District Twelve residents or tense silences between her husband and her. No more! A crazed smile spreads on her lips before she is pulled from her delightful thoughts when she feels nervous tugging on her dress.

"What!" She snaps at the source. Her smile grows wider as he jerks back and hesitantly points in front of them. She follows his pointer finger seeing two PeaceKeepers abnormally dressed in black. The PeaceKeepers stand at a distance until she pushes the vermin in front of her. They moved closer till they stood within arm distance.

"Do you have the money?" She asks eagerly, unfazed by the disgusted look thrown her way from the PeaceKeeper on the left. The PeaceKeeper on her right throws her a small bag filled to the brim with golden coins. She holds them to her chest while pushing the vermin toward the duo. The left one hoists the vermin up in his arms not at all affected by the struggling the vermin seems to be doing. She turns on her heel and starts to walk away. A sense of joy fills her. Everything was perfect!

"Hey, don't you want to say goodbye!" One of them yells. She spins back around. Surprise clear on her face and she just stares, incredulous.

"No," she replies succinctly.

"He's your kid!" The same one that wanted her to say goodbye shouts toward her angrily. She does not care though. He wasn't her kid when she signed the birth certificate and he wasn't hers now.

"And I sold him for a bag of coins. I don't care what you do with him. I wanted him gone the day he was born and you're doing the job for me. A goodbye is meaningless since I've said it from day one," she retorts. Her eyes flicker to the stilled vermin who stares at her with betrayal and sadness. The place where she slaps him is still an angry red. She decides it needs to be redder.

"You're sick!"

"It doesn't mean much coming from you. Now, if you'll excuse me I'd like to go home to my real family." She turns away yet again.

"Tell him goodbye and use his name," the PeaceKeeper growls and yet she still stays amused by all of it.

"Why? That action has no point." She shrugs and smirks.

"Just do it or I'll let it slip that the Mellarks haven't been chosen for the Games in awhile," he says, taunting her. She freezes at his words and thinks of her eldest boy, Rye that will be old enough to enter the games come summer. She is forced to follow his wishes.

She turns her body halfway, the shocked look still on the vermin's face. His pale blue eyes are big and teary; it is pitiful how he acts. He's always trying to gain attention and favor from those around him. This should be no shock to him. She has never liked him and never will. "Goodbye," she says softly. "Goodbye, Peeta."

Those parting words are her exit. She descends into the darkness of the village ignoring the anguished screams and cries that reverberate through the air.

Perhaps she really is the witch everyone makes her out to be.

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He's never been anywhere outside the baker's shop or the marketplace. When little Peeta boards a train with the PeaceKeepers he howls as loud as he can. The train is moving; he can feel it and he doesn't like it at all. It makes him feel very woozy. The PeaceKeeper that holds him securely tells him to calm down. He's making a scene, but Peeta refuses. He's scared of everything. He wants to go home to where his family is, not on some odd moving contraption. So, he continues making a commotion until one of them looses his patience.

"SHUT UP, BRAT. IF YOU DON'T..." The sentence trails off threateningly. That succeeds in making Peeta stop his current actions but it brings on a new wave of tears and he cowers, waiting for a blow. He waits and waits, but it never happens. Instead a soft hand runs through his ashy blond hair. Peeta glances upwards at the person who is touching him. It's the same PeaceKeeper who oddly keeps comforting him.

"It's okay, Peeta. Garnet doesn't mean it. He's just had a long day," the PeaceKeeper coos while the other PeaceKeeper stomps off.

Peeta doesn't know how to respond so he nods quickly. The PeaceKeeper chuckles and then temporarily retracts his fingers. Peeta makes a small whimper at the loss and the PeaceKeeper apologizes as he takes his black helmet off. Peeta is amazed at how beautiful the person is. He has flawlessly tanned skin with slanted hazel eyes and curly, dark brown hair that falls a bit passed his ears.

"Pretty," Peeta whispers and then blushes heavily. The PeaceKeeper laughs, threading his fingers back into his hair.

"You think I'm pretty? I can't believe I would garner attention from a cutie like you! Why, I'm amazed," he teases Peeta lightly. Peeta looks away, his blush growing heavier. "I don't think I've told you my name yet. My name is Hannibal Honorius."

"Hannibal... Hon-hon-re-uh-s," Peeta repeats, earning yet another laugh from the Hannibal boy.

"You'll get it eventually, cutie." Peeta smiles the tiniest bit at the encouragement from the pretty teenager. "So, are you okay now, cutie? Not that I don't enjoy your company but there's a lot you and I need to do before we arrive in District Two," Hannibal says as he stands up with Peeta, who wraps his little legs around his mid-section and tucks his head in the crook of Hannibal's neck.

Hannibal rubs Peeta's back soothingly, "Now, now, cutie, I'll be there." Even though Peeta just met Hannibal he trusts him, so, he nods reluctantly. Hannibal carries Peeta carefully as he walks down the train's hallways. They enter a room decorated in rich red and cool yellows. A long dining table sits in the middle of the room surrounded by many chairs. Hannibal sits at the head of the table putting Peeta in the seat next to him.

Hannibal gives Peeta a quick smile as he rings a small silver bell that is placed near his empty, crystalline plate. Peeta shivers as three young Avoxs entered the dining room. Peeta kept his eyes down until they were gone in a sign of respect. His father told him about Avox, and how they were to be treated like people too. If you ever saw them never stare at them with pity, instead lower your eyes in a sign of silent esteem. Only when they left did Peeta dare look up. He stares at Hannibal and waits for him to tell him what to do. He refuses to let the tantalizing smell of food affect him.

"What's wrong, cutie? Aren't you hungry?" Hannibal asks, his brow furrowing. Peeta nods furiously, of course he's hungry, but he gestures to all the weird things around him. He doesn't know what to do. There is silence until Peeta sees Hannibal's pink lips quirk upwards.

"You're lucky that it takes three days to get to District Two. I'm going to feed you today, but tomorrow you're learning how to use all the utensils." he smiles. Hannibal picks up Peeta and sets him up on his lap.

Peeta doesn't dare relax; the trust Hannibal's won only goes so far. He opens his mouth obediently when Hannibal offers him a silver fork wrapped in spaghetti. A small satisfied sound escapes him. Peeta has never tasted anything so good in his life. Immediately this has become his favorite food. "More," he quietly demands.

"As you wish," Hannibal snickers feeding Peeta while taking bites of fish filet. Peeta eats as much as he can, which turns out to be the entire plate. Again, Peeta lowers his eyes when the Avox come and clear the dishes, replacing them with plates of simple desserts.

Peeta squeals when he sees a small two-layered chocolate cake. He points rather excitedly at it and bounces up and down on Hannibal's knee. Hannibal draws it closer to them, cutting out a large piece for them to share.

Peeta waves Hannibal off when he tries to feed him. Instead Peeta grabs a weird silver object that sort of looks like a trident. He stabs it into the cake and pulls up, extremely happy when a chocolate piece sticks on. He places the thingie in his mouth wincing as he sticks his gums, however, it was overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through his taste buds from the fluffy chocolate cake. He moaned the tiniest bit.

"You really enjoy the cake that much, cutie?"

Peeta jumps in surprise at Hannibal's amused voice and then he nods. He jabs at a piece of cake with the trident item. He toddles the large piece of cake on it as he turns around carefully. He wiggles the mini-trident in front of Hannibal. "You want me to eat it, cutie?" He asks, amusedly. Peeta nods. Hannibal leans and eats off the trident, copying the little moan Peeta had made. He chews appreciatively. "Very good, cutie, I like it. Thank you!" Peeta nods and then turns back around.

He can only eat two more pieces of cake before he's full. Hannibal rings the small bell for a final time and picks up Peeta, who wraps himself around the teen. Peeta yawns adorably as he lays his head on Hannibal's shoulders, his eyes flickering between open and close.

"Time for bed, I see," Hannibal says softly. Peeta nods as he is carried down another hallway. After a couple of minutes he heads a faint a beep and the sound of odd clicking. Peeta feels cool air and the sound of a door shutting closed. Dim lights turn on above. Hannibal sets Peeta down on a big bed. His world is growing out of touch; so, he lies down on his side. Hannibal picks him up seconds later, swiftly undressing him and then dressing him with a large white t-shirt. After Hannibal changes into pajama pants, he tucks himself and Peeta in bed. He claps once and it grows dark.

"Goodnight cutie," Hannibal coos. Peeta sleepily nods and then twists and turns a couple of times before settling in one spot. Hannibal keeps his eyes on him for a few seconds more until he allows himself to relax. As he drifts off into sleep he swears he hears Peeta whimper,

"Papa."

For three days Peeta gets used to his lifestyle and Hannibal speeds Peeta through his new duties. Peeta learns that he was sold to Hannibal who in turn will hand him over to his eldest nephew as a birthday present; the eldest nephew of Hannibal's is from an old and distinguished family in District Two. Peeta's future position in the family is desirable.

Peeta trusts Hannibal and nods in agreement to whatever he utters. The day Peeta and Hannibal reach their destination, Peeta is scared. So very scared. Hannibal dons his regular eggshell white PeaceKeeper outfit. He is not allowed to hold Peeta or comfort him in anyway. His job is to lead Peeta to the family he will be serving. Peeta constantly has to remind himself that this is not another separation and he is not going to an abusive home. They are not the brutes his former District makes them out to be and Hannibal lives in District Two, he will visit him.

Despite those mental reassurances Peeta still feels frightened. All of this is happening so fast for the six year old. He hopes that it'll slow down soon. Peeta bites his lip hard enough to draw blood when his hopes come true a little too soon. A house, much larger and more lavish than his former, comes into sight. Hannibal speeds up his pace and so does Peeta. They are there at the house within three minutes. Hannibal knocks furiously, bouncing on the balls of his feet eagerly. Few seconds passed and a beautiful woman with long, fiery locks garbed in a tasteful cocktail dress opens the door. "Yes?"

"Aunt Ruby," Hannibal greets. "Can I come in? I've got a present for young Cato."

"Of course." She stands aside. Hannibal sweeps passed her while Peeta scampers after him. He can feel her acid-green eyes staring at his form. Peeta breathes harshly but stays calm. He stops when Hannibal stops, which happen to be at the end of iron stairs that spiral upwards.

"Cato!" Hannibal calls. There is strange quietness before a quick blur flies down the stairs and Hannibal is tackled to the ground. Peeta jumps back quickly and watches in awe as a skinny blond boy a bit older then he, wrestles with a PeaceKeeper, and is actually holding his own. However, Hannibal overpowers him in a single action and pins him to the ground.

"Do you admit defeat?" Hannibal challenges and the boy shakes his head, squirming in Hannibal's hold while snapping like a rabid animal. "Good!" He praises before letting the blond boy up.

The boy rocks on his heels as Hannibal puts him under intense scrutiny. "I'm here to give you your first real birthday present." Peeta wonders about that. Aren't all birthday presents real, but he doesn't question what Hannibal says. "Are you ready?"

"Yes!" The light blond-haired boy screams with enthusiasm only a child like him could muster.

Hannibal pushes Peeta forward to stand in front of Cato. "Cato, meet Peeta. He's your personal servant. I hope you like cutie, here."

Blue and Brown eyes blink at the same time, both children drinking up each other's acquaintance. A slow grin spreads on Cato's face and he grabs Peeta's wrist suddenly. "You're mine!" Cato announces proudly, "All mine!"

For some odd reason, Peeta agrees to those words. He doesn't really mind that this boy, Cato, has claimed ownership over him. In fact Peeta has the distinct feeling that he was going to enjoy his time with Cato.

"I'm yours," he seals with a smile.


	2. The Prince and Princess

**O_o**

**A/N: I honestly don't know what to say. I've never gotten seventeen reviews on one chapter before and I'm kinda scared about posting a new chapter since I wrote this one super quick, even though I had another chapter two. Thank you to all my reviewers, alerters, and favoriters, I hope this lives up to all of you guys' expectations.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games or anything recognizable, unless there's book being made about a threesome between Gale, Peeta, and Cato with a lusty Finnick on the side... then I might I have gained ownership. ;D**

**Warnings: Childhood drama, OCs, excessive use of "his prince"(Peeta does not and will hardly ever call Cato by his given name. He has taken on a submissive/subservient role. He will only use "his master or something else.) Bad grammar, and this weird POV I'm using; third person objective I think, ooh, and time-skip(A year or so.)**

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**Fragments**

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**Chapter 2: The Prince and Princess**

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The bright sun peeks from its spot in the clouds, beating down on two boys (one boy tied to tree, the other watching him.) in a large grassy field with sparse trees decorating the land. There are some fallen lawn gnomes surrounding the two boys, but they don't care for that. Both of the children are having an intense battle of the wills.

Peeta forces tears in his eyes as he valiantly struggles against the ropes' tight hold. He glares with all his might at his redheaded captor, Spartacus. Spartacus returns the glare, twirling his wooden sword in one hand, whilst a malicious grin curls on his pale face. "Tell me where your gallant prince resides, princess. He hasn't come to rescue you yet. It's obvious that's he's forgotten or found another, better, princess to care for!"

Peeta shakes his head, defiant. His blue-eyed glare is still trained on the nine-year old villain. "Your lies shan't affect me! He shall come and rescue me. He always does," Peeta's voice drops into a low whisper. A tone of promise and finality weaved into his words.

He frowned when Spartacus simply scoffed, waving him off. In a flash the sword's point was digging into the base of his throat. Peeta let out a few gasps as he was pressed into the rough surface of the maple tree. "Because I am a nice person I shall give you another chance. Humph, I'll sweeten the deal too. You're pretty enough. You could be dressed up as a girl and taken as my princess. Anything and everything shall be yours, if you simply be a good little princess and give me the location! If you don't..." Spartacus pushes the sword further.

"What's your answer?"

Peeta's frown becomes heavier. He sits rigid, "Do you remember the night I kissed you on the cheek?"

"Yes…?" Peeta allows a microscopic smile to appear on his face at the slight hesitation in Spartacus' voice

"Well, I was infected by a girl's cooties." Peeta suddenly smirks. "And not just any girl's cooties, Lyra's cooties! A birthday gift from my prince!" He laughs at his captor's horrified face.

"I'm going to die!" Spartacus yowls while Peeta nods sadistically. Lyra's cooties were one of the most potent weapons in the world, only fought off by a mother's kiss beforehand or a special cootie shot. Luckily, Peeta had gotten the cootie shot a month prior to this whole situation.

"You'll pay for this!"

Peeta shuts his eyes just as Spartacus removes his sword to position it at the side of his neck. Peeta knows Spartacus intends to cleave his head right off. He squeezes his eyes further when the sword is removed, he can hear the slight whizzing through the air and then, Peeta waits. He is only child of seven so he succeeds in waiting for fifteen seconds, then he opens one eye, and then another, clearly surprised at the sight in front if him.

"My prince," Peeta crows, happily. "You came!" He gazes upon his prince, Cato, who was wearing tan shorts with a yellow t-shirt and worn tennis shoes. A wooden sword is in his left hand, a small wooden shield in his right. His prince holds Spartacus in a standstill as he turns to Peeta.

"Of course I came, princess! Moth- I mean, the Wicked Witch of the Scipio, made me clean out the royal wardrobe and toy chest. That's why I was so late," His prince explains.

"Why didn't prince call me to do it for him, a princess' job is to service the prince." Peeta questions as he cocks his head to the side.

"The Wicked Witch of Scipio demands that I learn to clean by myself." Cato scowls while Peeta hides a snicker behind a cough. Over the year he had been with Cato, so far, he had learned that if anything he did not like to clean.

"Sorry, prince, had-"

"EXCUSE ME! Can we get back to what we were doing! I'm on a tight schedule here!" Spartacus yells, his foot tapping on the grass impatiently.

"Sorry," Peeta mumbles sheepishly, apologizing for both he and his prince.

"It's fine. I apologize for snapping like that, but I have training after this and I'm supposed to be warming up like Mother told me. Not playing silly games like these," Spartacus responds coolly. He proceeds to cough three times. His voice becoming funnily deeper before a dark look crosses his face. He takes a deep breath, slipping into his other persona.

"A little late, Cato, dear boy, don't you think? One second later and your princess would've been decapitated."

"Close your ears, prince. Don't trust his slimy words," Peeta calls from his spot. Spartacus was a tricky one. His tongue was sharper than the sharpest blade, and Peeta wouldn't pretend he understood all that came from Spartacus' mouth.

"Yes," Spartacus' smile grows larger. "Listen to your princess despite knowing the truth in my words. It won't make you any different from the rest of the human population. We all like to be blind to our errors~."

Peeta sinks deeper when he sees the ashen face of his prince. Spartacus has no idea what he has set off. He silently counts down in his head, 5... 4... 3... there is visible shaking from his prince... 2... 1... "Boom," Peeta mouths just as his prince lets out a mighty war cry, dropping his shield to the ground.

Spartacus back peddles, his sword twisted in front of him. Peeta resists the urge to cheer as his prince begins to fight Spartacus head on. He's a flurry of motion. All Peeta can see is Spartacus continuously being pushed back while his prince makes these fast-paced movements. The noise hears Peeta is just as vague as what he sees; all he can hear is the grunting of Spartacus and the loud clatter whenever their swords met. Peeta grinned when he heard the thunderous yelp coming from Spartacus. The short battle between the two was coming to its end, and Peeta knew who would be victor.

"Ready to die, Spartacus?" Peeta heard his prince question as he looked upon his kneeling opponent.

"Cheater-cheater-pumpkin eater!" Spartacus spat, an angry blush on his face. His prince shrugged off the comment before he moved his sword in a quick slicing motion.

Spartacus' hands clamped tightly to his neck, he let out a few gurgled moans and then he dropped to the ground, motionless. Peeta gasps at the grotesque sight of 'blood' staining Spartacus' porcelain hands. However, that doesn't do anything to stop the joyous feeling that rushes through him.

"Prince, you won!"

"But of course! The good guy always wins, right?" Peeta laughs as his prince rolls his eyes in a goofy fashion. Peeta holds out his wrists and feet when his prince stands in front of him, still waving his sword.

"Release me, please."

His prince complies, unleashing him with two simple cuts. Peeta immediately jumps up, scowling at his reddened wrists and ankles. He smiles up at his prince, bowing to show his gratitude. "Thanks for saving me."

His Prince grabs Peeta's hand, seconds away from kissing (really pecking.) it when Peeta shakes. "What's wrong?"

"Have you gotten your cootie shot yet?"

His Prince grunts and glances away. "I have no need for such a thing, the Wicked Witch of the Scipio always kisses me before I go anywhere."

"Then you're safe!" Peeta can't help but clap. He may be immune to Lydia's evil cooties but he still carries the virus. He can spread it anytime. He was just worried that his prince might catch it and suffer the future fate that Spartacus would've of he lived.

"Of course I'm safe," His prince huffs. "That aside, can I do my princely duty and kiss the princess' hand?"

Peeta nods, holding out his right hand. His prince pecks it quickly making Peeta blush. He retracts his hand, holding it against his chest. Tonight he shall study his hand and see if he can find the source of the current tingle he feels right where his prince's lips were.

He then pushes the odd feelings away for the moment, staring at his prince, not really knowing what to say next. There is a question on the tip of his tongue, but he's afraid to ask it. Peeta was sure the reaction to his question would not be worth actually gaining his answer. Luckily, or rather unluckily, his prince notices him and his quiet mulling over his dilemma.

"What is it?"

"N-nothing," Peeta lies with a small smile in place.

"You're a horrible liar, you know. Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?" His prince inquires as he rubs his cheek subconsciously.

"There's nothing on your face or a reason for what I'm doing," Peeta lies yet again.

"Your Master commands you to tell him the truth," His prince says strongly. He stamps his foot to add emphasis.

The seven-year-old flinches, but nevertheless does what he is told. "I was just wondering why do you always protect me? I am but a slave and you are my Master. Shouldn't I be the one protecting you? Aren't I the prince and you the princess?"

"No!" His prince immediately says as if the very idea is preposterous.

"Why?"

" Cuz, I say so. Besides you're cute and stuff. Nobody would take you seriously if you ever protect or defend me. Plus, you just started your training with Commodus! I'll be the laughing stock of the whole Academy if someone saw me getting babied by you."

"Ooh," Peeta's eyes flickered to the ground. His prince was basically telling him that he was useless. That hurt.

"Hey," his prince pulls his chin up to look at him. The nine-year old grinned, reassuring his charge. "You're seven and I think - I mean people think you're cute. It's my duty and honor to protect someone weaker than me. There's nothing wrong with it. I mean just think. You can lure all my enemies to me with just your smile! So, it's not bad. You can stop with the frowny face, it ruins your looks."

"Ok."

"Are you good now?"

"Yup," Peeta chirps. Although inwardly he still feels a little inadequate. He makes a silent promise that he will be strong enough one day to protect his Prince... and not be so cute.

"Good!" his prince grabs one hand leading his down the grassy terrain toward his house. "Crassus is making us lunch, and if we hurry we get to play pirates! Mother might even let us watch a Pre-Dark Days movie called Pirates of the Caribbean!"

"Aye, Captain," Peeta says, and just like that his prince has transformed into a fierce captain ready to take on the seven seas.

Meanwhile, a forgotten Spartacus leapt up from his spot on the ground, running after the two boys, yelling, "Hey, I want to join too!"


	3. Dreams and Training

**Welcome to another chapter of my lovely story. Gods, I'm cranking this out like a crazy. Hopefully, I finish this story by the end of the school year, which happens to be in mid-June. *crosses fingers* Thank you to all my lovely reviewers, alerters, favoriters, and lurkers (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE! ;P That's right I'm looking at you~!). I have no idea why people read my crap but I'm glad they do!**

**Okay, fanfiction is acting like a bitch so excuse the any wackiness of the text, please.**

**Warnings: Excessive uses of certain words like "Master", "That", "Would", "Has", and many, many, many more. (I need a thesaurus!), OCs, confusing POVS, horrible dream sequence, another Time Skip, gay people, and anything you can think of, oh, and horrendous grammar, spelling, and just writing. (AH! MY EYES! Lol, guy from SpongeBob Squarepants the Movie)**

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**Fragments**

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**Chapter Three: Dreams and Training**

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Peeta can do nothing but stand upright as his training mentor rants at him, his spittle flying. It took every ounce of restrain to keep him from rolling his eyes at his mentor's antics. Over the years he had become detached to the way Commodus, his training mentor, tended to treat him. Peeta readily preferred this attitude to any of his others, to him this was an incentive for him to do better and show his worth.

The promise to be stronger still rang true in his head. Years ago he said that he would be there to protect his Master instead of the other way around and he meant it. All this training went to him eventually becoming his Master's most faithful and perfect tool. The very object his Master needed -no- desired, he was ready to become. Peeta aimed to be something utterly infallible and unquestionable to his Master. And that he would be. He knew that in the very depths of his being, he'd be utterly perfect.

"Unacceptable! Your job is to protect and defend your Master. At this rate your Master will be protecting you," Commodus spits at him and Peeta can't help his recoil. "From what I hear that isn't anything new," his mentor adds. Peeta narrows his blue orbs marginally. A low blow and Commodus knows it.

"You look mad, shrimp. You've got somethin' to say?" The lithe brunette taunts as he circles around Peeta. Peeta balls his fists, but stays silent. He'll never give Commodus an inch. He knows his mentor so well. Give him an inch and he'll destroy you with barely a blink.

"Hmm," Commodus hums. "Spineless as usual."

Peeta can't stop the shivers that incase his body. He may be used to this kind of treatment from Commodus, but it goes too far sometimes. And the sad part is Commodus knows it, he knows that his skin isn't as thick as he'd like it to be. He recognizes what buttons to jab.

"It's crappy that I have to train someone like you! Why, it's an insult to my skill! You aren't going to be weak on my watch, I won't have a weak student; drop down and give me fifty," Commodus commands. Peeta doesn't even hesitate. He falls to the shiny marble floor and begins his pushups. Peeta's muscles scream in protest when Commodus decides to add resistance by pressing a large hand to his back. He refuses to show weakness, he could do this little exercise, compared to all the other things Commodus makes him do this was a welcome walk in the park.

"What number are you on, shrimp?"

"Forty-five," came Peeta's quick reply. Little beads of sweat dribble down his forehead. He fights the urge to wipe it; he needs to stay solely focused on his current activity.

"I hate liars especially bad ones," Commodus laughs. "Just for that, you have to do twenty-five more from the beginning."

Peeta's face becomes a bright red and his pupils dilate. His arms give out immediately, so, he falls face flat to the ground. A large, toothy grin spreads on Peeta's face when Commodus lets go of him so he doesn't fall along. He bounces back up staring at his mentor like a predator does to prey. He will wait until Commodus makes the first move.

'_This is going to be good,'_ Peeta thinks as he watches his teacher. He feels the air around them thicken significantly. Commodus was a force to be reckoned with. Not many people were so foolish to incur his wrath. Peeta wasn't many people. His limit had been pushed and it was time he showed Commodus that he wasn't one to be played with on whim.

"Insubordination? I didn't think you had it in you, I'm surprised but I'd like it better if you get back on the floor. I have no qualms against beating your ass black and blue. Age is but a number," Commodus says calmly to Peeta. He crosses his arms in an uncaring manner.

Peeta frowns at his arrogance. It rolls off of him in waves and it annoys him greatly that he was being waved off so easily. Yet, he's glad that Commodus had such a fault as arrogance. Peeta almost laughs at how easy it was to manipulate. Commodus placed himself on a high pedestal, blind to any of his weaknesses. Peeta knows the higher up a person places himself the harder his fall from grace is, and Peeta couldn't wait for that to happen.

"_Timber!"_ He thinks merrily, his teacher, oh, his poor teacher, about to be humiliated by him, a mere ten-year-old.

"I think I can take you on, _Commodus_, and win," Peeta says, self-assured.

Commodus roars at him, charging head-on like a raging bull. Peeta smiles at his mentor like a seasoned matador. He sways his hips teasingly and steps to the side at the very last minute. Commodus zooms passed him, just as Peeta thought his momentum was too great. He couldn't turn around or go anywhere but straight without hurting himself. In doing that Commodus has given Peeta enough time to go to the nearest grey wall and grab a short spear. He held the weapon in his hands with practiced ease. Peeta spins on his heel just when Commodus comes to a stop, regaining his footing.

His mentor snarls threateningly, but abjure is not a term in Peeta's personal dictionary. Peeta and Commodus hold a glaring match, each of them trying to goad the other into fighting head on. Eventually one would grow irritated and break. The seconds tick by slowly, neither of them wants to make the first move. Both of them want to stay defensive until required.

Peeta soon grows aggravated by all the waiting. He'll never admit it aloud, but waiting makes him antsy. He squirms in his spot waiting for his mentor to attack. A sudden yearning overcomes him, why won't Commodus charge at him in a foolhardy way as he did last time? Did he really make so much of an impression that Commodus doesn't underestimate anymore? Joy floods him but just as it comes he forces the feeling to disappear. Peeta narrows his eyes yet again. He traces over Commodus whose stance is too relaxed. The corners of his lips are pulled at the tops, and his pale green eyes; Peeta freely shifts through the stupid righteous anger and arrogance to see the true emotion that lies in his mentor's irises.

And then, he realizes. His heart thumps loudly.

Peeta screams. How dare he! How dare he, what does he need to do to demonstrate his worthiness? How dare Commodus patronize him? "You're pathetic!" Peeta grips his spear tight, a plan quickly formulated in his head. He'll show Commodus a taste of his power. Why he was going to be subtle strength behind his Master. Oh yes! His mentor better be ready for him.

Peeta's glad that he's small and agile. He becomes a blur as he races to Commodus. The taller man thrust his hands out to catch the spearhead, but Peeta twirls around him. His spear pointed at the back of Commodus' neck. Peeta smirks when he heard the sharp exhale of Commodus. The smirk only lasts mere seconds when Commodus ran forward, turning when there was a least six feet between them. "What was that about being pathetic? It seems as if you were describing yourself," Commodus taunts while waggling his eyebrows.

"I'm done!" Peeta growls. His spear clatters to the ground when he makes the decision to run full speed again. He grasps the small dagger out of the sheath, which hangs around his waist. Peeta scowls darkly when Commodus dares to do the same thing yet again! He's still being patronized! Fine! Peeta observes that his arrogance and decides its time. No more flitting around.

He skids in front of his mentor. He breathes harshly still clutching the dagger in front of him. He staggers forward and then back. "Awww, is the little shrimp tired after such a short little run?" Commodus takes a menacing step forward.

"I-I'm not tired," Peeta protests. He tries to still his vibrating hand, but Commodus sees his actions. He backs up a little more just as Commodus steps forward till he's in his breathing space.

"What fun this has been shrimp, but I think it's time for you to lear-," Commodus never gets to finish his sentence. Peeta's left leg slams into Commodus' ball-sack. The brunette wheezes, grabbing his crotch. He drops to his knees at the mercy of his student. "Timber," Peeta whispers triumphantly. He presses his dagger into Commodus' jugular, drawing a thin line of scarlet- red blood.

"You little shit," Commodus groans. Peeta only smiles, about to ask Commodus if he admitted to defeat. The door to their training room opens with a dragged creak. Three people slip in without a word, all of them heavily amused.

"COMMODUS!" A familiar voice booms. Commodus and Peeta roll their eyes, abandoning their previous positions.

"Narcissus," Peeta greets the eccentric man quietly. Narcissus with pale blond hair spiked in all different directions and baby blue eyes that were deceptively intelligent, the man was the very best when it came to mentoring. He's the only person that is able to defeat Commodus in mock duals and the weekly gladiator fights that District 2 holds. Narcissus certainly missed a few screws in the head and often acted out in public, everyone knew that he was not to be underestimated on his mannerisms alone. Dangerous was the word everyone, and Peeta did mean everyone, in District 2-associated Narcissus with.

He happened to be his Master's mentor. Speaking of Master, Peeta grins as he spots the twelve-year old. He wastes no time in getting over there. "Master," Peeta bows his head to say hello.

"Hi, puppet," His Master responds back. Pink suffuses Peeta's cheeks. His Master had given him the nickname 'puppet' on his ninth birthday when Hannibal mentioned how much Peeta acted like a marionette with Cato controlling his strings, hence being his puppeteer. Peeta secretly loves the nickname. He finds it very endearing and it makes him feel special.

"That's fine. I like being ignored and all. Really. It's obvious Cato deserves way, way, more attention than I do. Pfft, I'm okay," a large sniff and Peeta giggles.

"Good afternoon, Hannibal," Peeta says softly.

"Ello, cutie. I knew you wouldn't ignore me," Hannibal laughs and Peeta relishes in it. The rich, warm sound that still makes all his monsters go away and for him to feel safe no matter what.

"Master, may I?"

"You may," his Master grants. Peeta nods before he barrels into Hannibal not caring for the audience that surrounds them. He wraps his arms around Hannibal; glad he no longer reaches Hannibal's midsection. Hannibal in turn laughs, hugging Peeta firmly.

"You grow every time I see you. It's astonishing really," he ruffles Peeta's hair. He searches Peeta over and smiles the littlest bit. "You've grown strong, cutie. I'm proud," Hannibal praises while Peeta looks away. He does not feel that way. There was still a long way to go before he thought he was truly strong and worthy, Peeta thought meeting eyes with his Master before he forces himself to look elsewhere.

"Well, I've enjoyed the personal sentiments but that's not why we're all here," Narcissus says while playing with his fingers.

Peeta finds himself yanked back until he's standing beside Commodus. He glares up at the young man and then gives his attention back to Narcissus. "Why are you here then, Narci?" Commodus questions. The nickname he uses is a personal push to get Narcissus talking.

"Because dear Cato beat everyone in his class including Spartacus. Cato wants a challenge although I keep telling him about the girl Chiron trains. Clove is her name. Apparently she's skilled in knives," Narcissus says.

"She's good with knives and just that. There's nothing more to it," Cato interrupts with a frown.

"Right! So we've come here so Cato can test his skills against Peeta here. What do you say Commodus, do you accept the challenge between our two mentees? Mad Fun it shall be!"

"Be ready to lose," Commodus grunts as he pushes Peeta to the large red circle in the middle of the room.

"Arrogant as always," Narcissus replies happily. He pushes Cato to the other side of the large circle. Their two mentors throw wooden swords at their feet. A simple hand gesture signals that they may pick up their swords.

Peeta watches his Master carefully looking for ways to disable him rather than put him in a deadly lock. Peeta knows that it is helpless to do such a thing, his Master wanted a fight and if he saw that he wasn't giving his all, his Master would force his hand.

"You know the rules. Stay inside the circle and defeat your opponent as quickly as possible. A person may lose by stepping outside the circle or if you concede to your opponent. There will be no acts of mercy. You may begin," Narcissus turns his thumb upwards. He, Commodus, and Hannibal stand at the sidelines eyeing the two sparring boys.

It was just the two of them now, completely ignorant to whatever happened outside their little bubble. The two stare at each other with opposing views on how the match would end and start. Peeta knows that his Master's word is law; it just took one command or demand of his Master to become as still as a statue. There never was any questioning about that. Add that to the fact that he did not want to engage in this mock battle. Peeta sought to protect and defend his Master not fight him.

Peeta went through the motions dully. At this rate, the thought stopped. His Master strikes first, his sword heads to his left side. Peeta dodges out of the way automatically switching to defensive. "Good," his Master says. "But I can read you so easily. Don't think just do, alright?"

"Ok," Peeta nods, wiping away of his thoughts. He fully enters the dual. He and his Master begin the deadly dance of swords, they move in a haze of actions, they block and defend. There are thrusts and parrying, both of them trying to catch the other off guard. The spectators of the match can see the raw talent through the messy swordsmanship, Cato's talent shown through, more so than little Peeta. Still both of them could be polished to handle a sword like a pro.

A clatter sounds through the room when they meet head on yet again. Both of them were nose-to-nose as they try to push their swords together and overcome the other with mere strength. His Master slowly pushes him back, his strength at least double of Peeta's. His brown eyes twinkle as the bright red curve of the circle comes into view. His Master misses how his teeth gnash, Peeta instantaneously makes a rash decision. He gives up on competing with his Master through strength alone. He twists around his Master, his sword diving to one of his Master's most vital areas.

His Master blocks him with ease as expected of him. He pushes Peeta back a few feet with a wry grin. "Do you think that's going to work?" Peeta doesn't answer verbally. He laughs, attacking the spot several times. Finally, he breeches his Master defenses and now they're few inches apart. His sword flies through the air right to his Master's defenseless stomach. His Master raises his sword to block and Peeta laughs yet again. His methods switch in seconds, his sword points under his chin. His Master slumps to his knees. Peeta quivers, if this had been a real sword he just needed a little force to plunge his sword through his Master's head.

"Master," Peeta says lowly.

"Go on, puppet. Ask me!" His Master beams. Peeta is uneasy about how happy his Master seems. It's rather odd. No matter, he cannot go against an order.

"Do you admit defeat?" Peeta solicits mechanically. He hopes that Narcissus doesn't make his Master's punishment to bad for loosing.

"No!"

"Wha-," Peeta finds himself tackled to the ground. His Master straddles him and knocks his sword out of his grasp, taking it for his own. His Master presses the tip of his traitorous sword above his heart. Peeta has lost; there was no way that he could effectively outmaneuver his Master.

"Do _**you**_ admit defeat?"

Peeta nods, "Yes, Master."

"This match is over," Cato says happily. He moves off of Peeta who sits back up. His face flushes when images of Master's and his previous positions sprung up. He face grows hotter when he thinks about how close they were. He wonders why that is, he makes a mental note to ask Hannibal when they were alone.

He stands up, walking over to his Master. Their two mentors and Hannibal trek toward them. Two opposite emotions painted on their faces, anger on Commodus' and glee on Narcissus'. Hannibal just appears content.

"Nice job, Cato-darling because of that I'll go easy on you tomorrow," Narcissus commends with a silly flip of his hand.

"Extra training, tomorrow, shrimp. Tell Mrs. Scipio," Commodus says angrily. Peeta nods sullenly.

"Don't look so down, cutie. I'll buy you some ice-cream," Hannibal says. Peeta brightens significantly while his Master pouts.

"What about me! Why don't I get anything for winning! Don't I deserve something?" His Master crosses his arms, his cheeks puff out.

"Ooh, yes, Cato! Of course you deserve a gift too, I think we'll stop by a fruit vendor. I know how much you enjoy your fruit. Come on, cutie," Hannibal says jokingly as he grabs Peeta's hand in his own. He walks to the exit with his Master hot on his heels.

"FRUIT! Puppet gets ice cream, and I get FRUIT! Hey, you can't ignore me, Hannibal. Get your sorry butt back here!"

The two mentors watched their students exit the arena amusedly. When they were finally left alone Narcissus turns toward Commodus with a smirk, "Now that the kiddies are gone, what do you say you and me go to the Academy and scare a few children. I'll let you top this time."

"Fuck you, Narci. You said that last time," Commodus starts to walk away with a shrug of his shoulders.

"But I mean it this time! Come on. At least we can do is grind. I'm horny," Narcissus whines, staring off toward Commodus.

"I can't hear you."

"Fine, whatever. Ignore me for all I care. I'll get Tiberius."

"Okay," Commodus shrugs.

"I'm kidding, come on~!" Narcissus pleads.

* * *

_**He couldn't see a single thing, it seemed like the world was shrouded in darkness. All he could identify were large trees and the small stars of the night sky. Unfamiliar noises of the forest surrounded him. Peeta calls in all directions but his echo is his only answer. Where was he?**_

_**He tries to run straight, pushing pass stray branches trying to calm his beating heart. It pounds horribly in his ears, and nothing he seems to do stops the sound.**_

_**No…**_

_**Peeta stops in mid-run. It wasn't his heart that created the terrible sounds. He twists around to better hear galloping that shook the ground. Peeta gapes when a dark brown Kentauride (female centaur) rushes forward, a stony expression on her face. She doesn't blink as she pulls out an arrow from her invisible quiver to notch her white bow in her right hand.**_

_**Peeta follows the kentauride until they arrive an in open field. A small child sits in the middle of it, even though its dark, Peeta makes out how battered the child is. Peeta can't help himself, he runs to the child.**_

_**Wide**_ _**brown eyes stare up at him when he arrives. "W-who a-a-are you?"**_

_**"**_**My**_** name is Peeta," Peeta introduces. He pets the child's dirty blond hair and notices that the child resembles his Master a lot. It's almost scary how much he does. He dismisses the thought; it can't be his precious Master. The child is too meek and weak.**_

_**"M-my name is Cato," the child stutters. That only proves to solidify his thoughts, although the child's name is the same as his Master's.**_

_**"Cato?" The child nods at the mention of his name. "Do you know how you got here?"**_

_**"I was playing a game, I'm really good at it, mister. Have you heard of the game I was playing? It's called the Hunger Games, a boring name! The dogs came and I was the only on-," Cato never gets to finish his sentence, and Peeta seems to have awoken from a daydream. It dawns on him where he is and how important the child is to him, but it's too late. A white arrow shoots through the air, missing Peeta, and directly imbedding itself into Cato's forehead.**_

_**Peeta can only stare in horror as scarlet blood flows freely from the spot on Cato's forehead. He topples into Peeta's lap, the warm blood staining his pants.**_

_**"Cato?" Peeta shakes the child gently.**_

_**"Master," he tries again. It was too much. He had just been talking to him moments ago. There was no way that he was dead.**_

_**His world begins to crumble as he persists in his frenzied state to see the light restored in his Master's eyes.**_

_**He couldn't be, his Master was pulling his leg, he needed to get up. Why when he shook him didn't he open his eyes and sit up? Peeta raises his hands how did he create so much fake blood... he, Master, his thoughts. There, no sense to anything, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!**_

_**"Don't leave me, please,**_

_**MASTER!"**_

* * *

Peeta jolts up in bed, panting. He places his head in his hands, muttering that it was all just a dream. For some reason his gut twists painfully.

A sickening emotion arose within him… it had to be a dream it just had too.


	4. First Kisses

**I am soo... going to hell (if I believed in such a thing.) for writing this, and you guys might be terribly mad at me. I know, I write terrible yaoi scenes and overuse tons of words. I feel like such a horrible fangirl. -pouts- Dude, I saw the AVENGERS. I think I fell in love with Loki(Tom H.), he's just so awesomely sexy, though the helmet can go... and he's british! XD Go see the movie! Now.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own. Unless, you suddenly see Loki in only boxers in the Hunger Games book I do not own the series. It belongs to Suzanne Collins and she can keep her series.**

**Warnings: Bad Yaoi (sobs),purposely vague at the end, bad grammar, bad story-telling, WTF moments, possible confusion, OCs, innocent Peeta(never jerked off in his life...), Cato, and lots of other stuff that I don't care to mention right now. Possible relationship between a 25-year old and 13-year old, don't ask. **

**Thank you to all my lovely reviewers, supporters, alerters, favoriters, and lurkers. Also, thank you to Marvel for my new crush. ;P**

_'I love Twizzlers' thought-song._

_'I love Loki,' notebook speak for Avoxs.  
_

**_"Screw the rules I have money," emphasis._**

**Cato's POv, next chapter. That's right, two parts!**

* * *

**Fragments**

* * *

**Chapter Four: First Kisses**

* * *

_Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me._

A teen around fifteen with short dirty blond hair spiked with gel and chocolate brown eyes, moves around in a rushed frenzy completely naked besides his underwear. His face speaks of utter panic. "Puppet, where's my red shirt? The one that Mother just got me!"

Long, muscled legs move back and forth in a gliding manner over a simple black and blue twin-sized bed. _Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me._ "Master, it's on your bed."

A brilliant smile flashes across Master's face. It's dazzling; really it is, because sometimes it's so easy to forget that Master is only fifteen. Master's mostly cold and harsh these days. It seems impossible that he used to be a boy that liked to laugh and play all day long, but when he smiles, it's seen again. "You're a life-saver," Master says and the shirt is flung on.

_Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me._ Today is my thirteenth birthday. My most important birthday is a coming of age tradition in District 2 where you chose a signature weapon. A slave rarely gets the opportunity but Mistress and Sir allow me such an honor. Master shows no signs of knowing it's my birthday, but there's no reason to worry. He hasn't forgotten and he's not blowing me off. Maybe he's trying to surprise me; he did so for my eighth birthday.

"Puppet," Master whines and attention is immediately drawn to him, "where are my black pants? I can't find them anywhere."

A sneeze hides a muffled snigger. "In your hand, Master."

"Oh," Master says, sheepishly. He holds up his right hand where his pants are clutched tightly in its hold. It takes moments for him to put on his pants when he chooses to mutter an embarrassed "Thanks."

_Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me._

"How do I look?" Master questions as he spins around to view himself at different angles while he stands in front of his mirrors. He's handsome in whatever he wears. Why he continues to need reassurance on his looks, a question not yet answered.

"Fine... as always," the last part is said in-audibly.

"Are you sure?" Insecurity seeps into his voice. It's amazing because it's appeared yet again! Unbelievable. Master allows a small part of his real self to be seen. That little boy I met so many years ago, the one who declared me his, is in front of me once more. The blush is silent. It creeps up on me.

"I've never lied to you before."

_Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me._

"You're right. Clove is going to jump me! I'm totally getting lucky tonight," Master thrusts his hips, continuing, "Her parents aren't home today." Master chuckles while sweeping invisible dust off his clothes. She's an invader but Master doesn't see it. Just three years ago he didn't even care for her, and now he does. Why? What does that girl have that has ensnared my Master's attention so? The jitters are back, my legs seem to sweep higher and higher the closer Master walks to the door. He turns the doorknob, opening the door, and walking out, "Don't wait up," he calls over his shoulder and the door is slammed shut. Master doesn't even glance back.

_Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me._ The tune sounds melancholy and mournful. So broken.

...

Master forgot.

* * *

"Ouch!" Peeta yelps, he places the heavy bag of flour on the floor before he turns his arm around to inspect his pale skin. He spots the slightly reddened blotch, but it didn't look like it had broken the skin. He rubs the spot for a while deeming it all right after a couple of seconds. Peeta then glares up at the source of his pain, "What was that for?"

A man around thirty-five with light brown shaggy hair, serious ash-colored eyes, and a somber face, offers a small smile. He twirls a yellow pencil (the item he flicked Peeta with) in his fingers before grabbing a worn, blue notebook with the word "Avox" stenciled into the cover off the marble counter. He jots down a message and gives the notebook to Peeta.

Peeta reads the message quickly. _'I'm sorry but I had to get your attention.'_

"Well, Crassus, now you have it. What do you want?" Peeta asks brusquely. He was in no mood to talk at the moment, even if it was his special birthday.

_'Why are you in the kitchen?'_ Crassus writes.

"I want to make cupcakes," Peeta says. He grabs the large bag of flour off the floor with a grunt to emphasize his point. He ignores Crassus' disapproving look. "What! Is that a crime or something?"

_'No, it isn't. Today is your birthday though. You're supposed to be having fun. Not working in the kitchen.'_

"My birthday? That's not an excuse and I like working in the kitchen," Peeta replies meaning every word. Baking was his niche. Not only that, baking was how he relieved stress, his way to relaxing and forgetting about all his worries if only for a couple of hours.

**'**_**Are you okay?**_**'** Crassus' writing abruptly changes, the question written in bold and his jaw locking.

"Yes... what would make you ask?" Peeta shifts the bag on his shoulder uncomfortably.

'_Nothing. I'm just curious as to the reason why Young Master isn't by your side and he hasn't been seen today. It's rare that he's not glued to your side and this early in the day. The only time you guys aren't together is when Sir calls for you and that's at night.'_

Peeta glances away after reading the scrawled note. Crassus' words hit home. "There's nothing wrong," he says stiffly. Master needed to be pushed into the furthest crevices of his mind where not even he could access it.

_'You're a terrible liar.'_

Peeta rolls his eyes. "I need a tesserae for every time I hear that."

'_So, are you gonna refuse dear old me the telling of your pent-up woes?'_

Peeta pushes the notebook away, his answer clear. Crassus wryly smiles. He takes the heavy bag of flour from Peeta, putting it in one hand and using the other to push Peeta through the black and white double doors. Peeta stands there for a moment, befuddled in what just transpired until he regains control of his senses. He twists around to go back into the kitchen only to find that he can't.

He pounds on the doors furiously, yelling Crassus' name yet the doors refuse to budge. Peeta grumbles under his breath and slumps down to sit in front of the doors. How dare Crassus lock him out? Did he not deserve the simple pleasure of baking on his birthday? His birthday was going down the drain and there was little he could do to stop it. Not that he wanted to stop it. With Master gone frolicking with the invader, a clear display of where his affections lay, Peeta fails to see how he could have any sort of fun on his special day. Master, and Peeta's inability to do what he loves have cruelly dissipated all the happiness and joy.

He leans back against the cool metal, closing his eyes. Fine. Peeta crosses his arms and decides to act like a petulant child. He shall stay outside the kitchen area all day. He frowns when he realizes that he'll disappoint Mistress and Sir for missing his coming-of-age ceremony, but he has plenty of time to make a presentable excuse for when the time calls for it. Content with the thought, Peeta relaxes little by little, feeling himself being lulled into Morpheus' hold.

"CUTIE!"

Peeta snaps his eyes open. Leave it to Hannibal to ruin any of his plans. A blur of tan, black, hazel, and maroon is all Peeta sees before he is swept up off his feet quite literally. Peeta shifts uncomfortably as Hannibal cradles him as he starts walking. Peeta holds out on the temptation to wrap his arms around Hannibal's neck. He was not some simpering maiden or six-year old child.

"What's got you all quiet, cutie? Usually you greet me happily and fill me on your newest baking creation. Have I vexed you in some way?" The patent grin that Hannibal wears whenever around him dims a watt.

"Long night and morning," he answers shortly. His attention strays from Hannibal to the light yellow walls around them.

"Mhm." Hannibal still carries him.

"Don't you believe me?" Peeta minces. He does not show it but he knows he has replied in the wrong way. Surely, Hannibal will confront him on his error, pressing him to tell him of his problems. Peeta thinks back on Crassus, the head chef might've been on to something when he said he was a bad liar.

"I believe you, cutie. You've never told me a lie before. Why would you now?" The words are like freezing, cold water. Hannibal has caught him, and easily so. He curses under his breath. He might as well come clean.

"How can you manage to unravel me in a few seconds, but everyone, including Master, has to work for it," Peeta inquires, genuinely interested.

"Because you were mine before anyone else and you're so simple for me to read," Hannibal answers. The watt lost in his grin regained. "Are you willing to tell me what's wrong now?" Hannibal stops just before the foyer where his birthday party is being held. The whole room is decorated in a sunset sort of orange, his favorite color, with light blues subtly weaved through the color scheme.

A long table is graced with an orange tablecloth. There are five weapons spread at the center of the table each gleaming with silent promises. A stack of presents sits on the left and a huge, four-tiered cake the Peeta recognizes immediately because he actually made the cake. Apparently, Mistress' closest girlfriend was a big fan of Peeta's baking skills and demanded an extravagant cake done for her birthday/wedding. Peeta found it odd that Mistress' girlfriend wanted the cake to be in his favorite colors, half the cake to be red velvet and the other in marble, again two of his favorite cake flavors, and the words on the cake. It read, Happy Birthday Pieta. That was her name. Looking back on it, Peeta can't believe how dense he was.

He berates himself as he searches over the room some more. Everyone he knows is dressed casually for his birthday. Peeta smiles at that. He has never liked to dress up for any sort of event, and rather people do not for him. He surveys the contents of the room one last time and freezes when he recognizes a person he missed before.

"Spartacus," Peeta whispers. He hasn't seen the redheaded boy in months. He had heard from Master that Spartacus' father died, and the burden of being District Two's, and subsequently the Capitol's best weapon maker fell onto him. Spartacus had to drop out of the Academy and immediately take up the reins of his predecessor, as it was the job of the eldest son.

"Put me down," Peeta says, the urge to go talk to Spartacus strong. Hannibal shakes his head, his grip tightening.

"I will not. You still need to tell me what's wrong."

"Can it not wait until after my birthday party is over?" Peeta attempts to protest, but Hannibal does not budge.

"No."

"Okay!" Peeta angrily whispers, his voice raising an octave. "You want to know what's wrong so badly? Huh? For that you shall need Master. I'm not important enough for him to remember. All he cares about is Clove! He has forgotten my birthday, but has remembered that slag's parents won't be home today," Peeta spits viciously. "I take care not to imagine what activities they're partaking in." Peeta sneers.

"Awww, cutie,"

"No! Hannibal, I don't want to hear your sugary words right now!" Peeta interrupts. "My Master has pushed me aside on my most important day for some fuck. Master grants me many privileges that most servants only dream of, but I only ask for one thing from Master - no, rather I only want one thing, and that's for Master to be here with me. I guess that's asking for a lot," Peeta snipes.

"Spartacus!" Hannibal unexpectedly calls out. Spartacus glances up suddenly from his conversation with a starry-eyed Lyra, spotting them. Peeta watches as Spartacus jogs over. His once long red hair, cut to his ears and tamed on his head aside from the few unruly hairs. He has certainly grown into his body and stands at 5'8" with a lean, swimmer's body only a male from the Academy could have.

"Hannibal... Princess Peeta," Spartacus greets, inclining his head.

"Charming as ever," Peeta comments dryly, un-amused by the nickname that has managed to stick from their childhood.

"Only for you." Spartacus laughs, winking. He then becomes serious when he again addresses Hannibal. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Actually, there is. Retrieve Cato from Antonius' daughter. If he requests to know why tell him his Mother requires him. And tell Aunt Ruby that Peeta will be with me for an hour or so," he says. Spartacus nods at the order. He dips his head for goodbyes, dashing back into the party to begin what Hannibal had told him to do.

Peeta gapes like a dead fish. "What just happened and where are we going?"

Hannibal mischievously smiles, twisting and turning through the hallways as if he had no clear direction. "We are going to my room, away from prying eyes. As for what just happened, I'm going to get you what you want. Be prepared for a very possessive and clingy Cato."

"What?"

"You'll see," is all Hannibal says before he pulls both Peeta and him into his room and shutting the door firmly behind them.

* * *

Peeta gasps when there are loud footfalls outside the door. It's almost time and he's afraid of what the results are going to be like. He opens and closes his hands around a tuft of the soft blue bed-sheet. Hannibal is next to him, humming softly to himself while playing with Peeta's hair. "Are you positive this is the only way?"

"Of course. Hush now and trust me, cutie," Hannibal soothes and Peeta nods albeit reluctantly.

Thunderous knocking grabs their attention and Peeta knows its time. He transcends into his role, sounding miserable. "Oh, Hannibal, we can't be doing this anymore. I don't love you. You were," Peeta let's out a strangled gasp.

"Are you so sure in your answer, cutie? Was it not you who called for me last night? Begged me for a visit to your bedroom after Cato had fallen asleep," Hannibal tosses back. The knocking has all but disappeared. 'He's listening,' mouths Hannibal.

"I don't recall such a thing," Peeta says meekly.

"Oh, I think you do. Indulge me a little though. I want to know, what shall you do if I leave. There are plenty of other people willing to satisfy me. In fact if you really do intend to deny me, I'll leave right now and have Spartacus take your place." Hannibal chuckles darkly.

"You do not mean that!"

"But I do. You aren't anything special," Hannibal says as he gets up from his seat on the bed, making sure to create lots of noise.

"Hannibal! Wait! I was only kidding I do love you. Just don't leave me," Peeta pleads. A fierce blush rose to his cheeks.

"Now, I'm not so sure. Tell me what you shall do to keep me from leaving you."

"Anything you ask."

"Really?" Hannibal gets back onto the bed, once again creating a lot of noise. "Anything?"

"Yes."

"Then," Hannibal says, almost gleefully, "I want you to call me _**Master**_ and beg for me to take you back."

"Master, I need you. You don't know how much my body craves your touch. Master, you have to stay, please. For me! I can still do so much for you..." Peeta trails suggestively and moves over to Hannibal. Hannibal grabs him by the waist and plants him on his lap.

"Not good enough, cutie. I think I shall go."

"No, please, Master, what do you want me to do? Whatever you ask it shall be done," Peeta begs. He wonders if Master (Cato), really believed what was happening. If he did, Peeta only hopes that his Master will be merciful when it comes to the next part.

"Hmm." Hannibal pretends to contemplate. "I want you to kiss me."

"Kiss you? Is that all? Do you not wish for something else," Peeta sounds unsure.

"I'm afraid not, cutie. I just want a little kiss today."

"If that is what you wish, Master," Peeta relents. He breathes lightly, knowing he actually had to go through with some of his words. Although Hannibal has thankfully taken the initiative and he promises it will only last a few seconds.

"Groan a little and lower your eyelids," Hannibal mumbles pushing him down on the blue bed. He hovers over Peeta; his knee parts Peeta's jean-clad legs. Peeta does just that, he misses the way Hannibal averts his steady gaze and red colors his face.

"More, Master, more!" Peeta says, sounding needy as hell.

"Only a kiss, cutie," Hannibal says teasingly.

"Fuck the kiss!" Peeta yells. For a moment he's insecure, but Hannibal swiftly nods. He closes his eyes and crashes his lips to Hannibal. His hands tangle through Hannibal's hair bringing the older man closer to him. He can feel the bed rock in a rhythmic motion. Peeta is curious to know what Hannibal is doing to cause that, but he doesn't open his eyes or stop the kiss.

It's Hannibal who pulls away by a hair's breath. "I hope you're hard," he murmurs. Peeta can't even question Hannibal on the meaning of his words. His pants are pulled down to sit just below his bum. And then, Peeta doesn't even know. Hannibal brushes his lips against his own... and he feels himself arching. A lusty, wanton moan escapes him.

"Puppet? Is that you! Are you okay?" Peeta registers his Master's voice through his hazy fog of pleasure he's been thrown in. It does nothing to bring him back down to Earth instead it spurs it on.

**_"Maaaaaster,"_** Peeta draws out unwilling. What the fuck is Hannibal doing to him? His touches are hard to track. Sometimes their fast, sometimes it's slow, and sometimes he holds him and Peeta whimpers for him to continue his ministrations.

"I'm coming in," His Master shouts from the other-end.

Hannibal swears under his breath, prodding Peeta to wrap his arms around his neck and to pull him down. The red-painted door whooshes open just as Hannibal begins to trail hot kisses down his neck and he still touches him in front of Master.

"Hello, Cato, enjoying the show?" Hannibal taunts Master just as his touch grows impossibly faster. Peeta arches, a feeling he can't describe festers within him. He feels it slip from his fingers yet he fights to keep it.

"Let it go, cutie, come for me!" Hannibal demands. Again, Peeta is unaware of the meaning behind those words but it's his key to release. Peeta's mouth twists into a silent scream. He drops down to the bed, exhausted and slightly confused at the sticky wet puddle in his boxers. When had that gotten there? He had no time to dwell on such a matter, his Master rips him from his internal musings, using his real name.

Uh oh.

"Peeta."

"Yes?"

"Explain."

Peeta gulps.


	5. You Love Him, Don't You?

**Soo, I have a new chapter and it's even longer than normal. -wipes forehead- This was a major pain to write and disgustingly sappy. Who knew Cato was that type of boy? Anyways, I just got back two of my exam scores and I PASSED! No more stressed-filled nights. Also, I've been meaning to ask you guys can you guess why I gave Hannibal his name and Cato his last name? I learned it in history class!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the quote by Shakespeare or the play Hamlet nor the Hunger Games book. Oddly, I feel happy.**

**Warnings: Yaoi, pedophilia since Hannibal is twenty-five, bad grammar and story-telling, OOCness, overuse of phrases, overly sappy themes, my poor attempt at symbolism, Clove 'n Cato doing the nasty, did I mention bad grammar, obscene language, and a shitload of other things! I feel accomplished. FIRST TIME USING FIRST-PERSON. -nervously laughing authoress- "It can't be that bad, right?"**

**Thank you to my reviewers, stalkers, lurkers, alerters, and favoriters.**

**One more thing I promise! Thank you all for your support in my OC Hannibal! **

* * *

**Fragments**

* * *

**Chapter Five: You Love Him, Don't You?**

* * *

_Doubt thou that the stars are fire;_

_Doubt thou that the sun doth move;_

_Doubt thou truth to be liar;_

_But never doubt that I love._

It is not Clove who I see writhing beneath me. Her hands are not the ones that I imagine clawing my back, bringing me infinitely closer. The sound coming from her mouth isn't her own; it's deeper and rougher, a voice that I've grown to love since I was a brat of eight.

"Harder," she cries, but it's not her I grant this request too. Clove is a mere vessel. "Cato, I'm, I'm," she chokes. That's it. My pace is uncoordinated, I go faster and faster... until I reach my peak and groan my release, its only seconds later when she follows me after calling my name.

I stay inside for a minute or so, catching my breath while she catches her own. "Get off." She pushes me to the right side of the bed. I glare at her, from the rough treatment but she waves me off. Her face is a deep red and her whole face is scrunched. Its the sex, well, I couldn't say that. Sex is only part of the reason. A frown forms on my face. There was supposed to be no feelings involved. She always acts like this afterwards. She knows she is nothing but a shabby replacement. I even told her the first time.

"Fix your face," I'm aware at the uncaring tone in my voice.

"Fuck you!" Clove snaps. Her long brunette hair whips behind her as she stares at me angrily.

"I just did, babe."

Clove throws a pillow at me but I move as she stands from the ruffled bed. She pulls on clothes from off the floor and I cross my arms. This is so redundant. Why must she go through this every time I come over? I wait patiently for her to start her tirade: "Get out, Cato."

"No."

"Cato, get out unless I'll make you."

"How?" I raise an eyebrow at this routine stupidity act. "The only thing you can do is throw knives. There are no knives in your room, I checked. Peacekeepers aren't an option because your father trains the Peacekeepers and overlooks most, if not all of them. They are subordinates of your father and always report any activity involving you, so, if you go get them it hurts not only me but also you. How are you going to make me, again?"

Clove growls. She jumps back on to the bed and moves over to where I am. She furiously beats on my chest whilst yelling at me, and I can't find it in myself to care. Her hits bounce off my chest painlessly. I'm waiting for her to tire herself out so we can go through the same talk. Yet, she mutters something that rewrites all previous plans.

"What?" I grab her wrists. Her deep brown eyes are narrowed dangerously. "What did you say?"

"You heard me!" She challenges. "I'm not a replacement for that fucking fairy. I'm better than him. I don't deserve -"

My laughter stops her. It's biting, it's malicious, and it cruelly mocks her. "You're right, you deserve something less. Here you are inviting me in your bed knowing that I have zero feelings for you. We are partners in the loosest sense. I could watch you die and I wouldn't bat an eye, but it was you who made this proposal, it was you who needed to be fucked so badly, so, you came to me despite my affections. Clove, you mean nothing to me. He means way more to me than you ever will.

And you know what?" I sarcastically asked, taking notice of the clear welling of tears in her eyes. Pathetic, ran through my head.

"Next week when your parents are gone per usual, you'll be begging me to fuck your cunt, aware that it won't be you I picture under me," I jeer, a smile crossing my face when she glares daggers. It's sorta cute. As if her looks can affect me. Snorting with that in mind, I let go of her wrists and lay back on the comfy bed. My eyes closing upon impact, a simultaneous calming sigh escapes.

For that moment everything feels good. Too good in fact, but I'm never one for taking a gift from the horse's mouth. I sink lower into the bed, not at all caring how Clove gets up from the bed, exiting the bedroom. Maybe she'll do something useful and cook us up some food. Not to sound chauvinistic or anything, but she devotes all her energy into her one talent and being angry over a problem that she created. She should use it somewhere else, someplace that could mutually benefit us when the Hunger Games come around.

A low chime vibrates through the house. I groan as I get out of bed, pulling on my pants and not bothering with a shirt. It has been agreed upon that I answer the door whenever I'm over here. I pad through the large house; the familiar family portrait and other little trinkets of the Cleaves are part of my surroundings. Clove crosses her arms when I meet her by the doorway, she gives me a rancid look but firmly keeps her mouth sewn shut. It's easy to smirk at her amusedly and shoo her away unless she wants to be seen.

She spins on her heel, stomping down the hallway. Absent-mindly, I open the door; I make the connection that the only time I ever find Clove remotely attractive is when she's fired up. The thought doesn't get very far when a sudden blinding pain overwhelms my senses. I clutch my face, barely suppressing a pained groan. "Bitch," I hiss venomously, glaring death at the person who hit me.

The pain goes away momentarily when I look at my assailant. Spartacus, the name forms in my mind. My best friend is in front of me, holding a bloody fist. His face murderous, and his stance tells me he thinks of me more of a foe than friend. "The fuck?" I spit blood onto the ground, "Whatcha do that for?" From the corner of my vision I spot him curling up another fist.

"Because you're a fucking bastard!"

I couldn't help the flare of smugness that fires within. It's part of my nature to act like a Grade 'A' douche bag, and it's so easy too. There's no work involved just easy words for easy targets. "No, I think my parents were married before they had me. You, on the other hand..." A belittling smile curls on my lips.

"Ha. Ha," Spartacus says, "You're so fucking funny."

"I know."

"Tch," Spartacus snorts, his fist curling at his side, "You don't deserve him at all. I hope he washes his hands with you as soon as the Hunger Games come around, or better yet," Spartacus' lips curl into a vengeful sneer, "Hannibal retakes him from your care."

At that moment the world seems to fade into black. I registered myself grasping the doorknob from behind, slamming the door close and then grabbing a fist full of Spartacus' collar, yanking him to me until we were nose to nose. "How dare you!" The previous playfulness found in my voice all but gone. "Are you implying-"

Spartacus snarled, cutting me off. He ripped away for me, more serious then I've ever seen him in his life. "Yes," he says, "That is exactly what I'm implying, Cato. You've been neglectful for three years. I've seen the cycle before with you and younger children. You've grown bored, isn't that it? You no longer have any interest with a toy that's lost its novelty. You fail to realize that Peeta isn't some cheap gift you can do away with!"

"I would never!" I shout at Spartacus, angry that he has the balls to say such a thing. Bored with him? Never.

Spartacus laughs bitterly. "I would never," he echoes me. "You don't realize that you've already. Tell me something Cato, do you recall how Peeta broke his right leg two years ago? Or how about when Peeta was literally stressed too tears for three hellish months? I can bet my father's shop you don't know the reason why," Spartacus simpered. "Oh, let's not forget how Peeta's been preparing. All the work and effort he's been putting into it. How I wish I had Peeta's spirit," Spartacus' clasps his hand to his heart. My former smugness mirrors Spartacus' current.

His light pink lips form an 'O', faux surprise on his face. "My memory maybe wrong, but it seems to me that either you truly don't know or you've forgotten. I can't see how the first one is possible especially since all the Scipio's and their close family and friends have been buzzing about it for weeks. Huh... so, how is it the eldest male of the Scipio, doesn't know?"

"Stop with these games, Spartacus!" My patience has reached its capacity. It takes everything to reign in my future fiery rampage. I refuse to admit how much Spartacus' words stung. Have I really wronged my Puppet so?

Spartacus tilts his head to the side. A frigid tone is added to his hazel eyes. "What's today, Cato?"

I cross his arms at his stupid question. "November 22nd."

Spartacus frowned, copying me by crossing his arms.

"Its November 22nd, a Wednesday. There's nothing special about this day. Unless you're interested in me fucking Clove," I responded.

"Nothing special?"

"Nothin'," I replied, confident in my answer.

"I should've punched you twice and at least hard enough to break your jaw. You're a fucking ass, Cato," Spartacus yelled as he started to walk away. "If you don't know, you're definitely aren't worthy enough to be there. Peeta should be with someone like Hannibal, someone who actually cares.

I opened my mouth to yell back a retort but nothing came out. I shut my jaw with a snap, angry and miffed. Is it so hard to say I care; prove to Spartacus that Peeta's wellbeing mattered to me? I fight back the urge to scream in utter frustration. What did I do that was so bad? Why could I not remember all those things about my Puppet when he was at my side 24/7, and of all those days why had Spartacus brung up today?

The date was familiar enough, three days until Thanksgiving, but what was it? My face screwed in concentration thinking harder than ever, before it dawned on me. Surely, I could be mistaken but Spartacus confirmed it for me minutes ago. I had forgotten. In all the years of having my Puppet, including the first year when we barely knew two things about one another, I forgot his birthday and it had to be his thirteenth birthday.

The day he picked his weapon (or profession). His most important birthday, the day he became an adult. How that had slipped from my mind I hadn't a clue but I had little time to dwell on that matter. Stepping back into the house I hurried to pull on my shirt and grab my things.

I had presents to buy and mistakes to rectify.

"CATO ALEXANDER SCIPIO!"

I barely suppressed my shiver as my Mother raised her voice several octaves, her expression furious. Her hands rubbed her protruding belly at an alarming rate while her acidic orbs were trained on me. "Where. Were. You?"

I gulp at her question. My mother has reduced me from a lethal killer to a shaking boy. She's always had that effect on me. It is stupid to even think I would have a chance against her when she's like this. My mother was calm when she was PMSing compared to this.

"Cato."

"Yes?" Damn that tone she uses.

"I asked you a question and I expect you to answer it. I will not repeat myself again: Where were you?"

"Clove's house."

"Doing what?"

I avert my eyes. She can't really expect me to answer that? However, I look back at her face, she's serious. I swallow a ball full of saliva. "I was with Clove, intimately."

Here's the thing. My mother is a regal queen with her fiery locks curling elegantly around her face, her porcelain skin, and her impeccable cold posture that had been instilled in her since she was a little girl. Never in my life have I seen her lose her cool, but here she was. A light coloring of pink streaked her cheeks. That alone told me I was in deep shit.

"Cato, you have shamed me."

"Mom. It was a slip-up, I meant-"

"Exactly, you meant. You were out on such a day, doing that with a girl-" My mom couldn't even finish her sentence. She turned away from me. "You are young and stupid in the peak of your youth, I couldn't fault you for that. However, I expect you to have a brain every now and then. Have I not taught you better?"

"Mom, I'm sorry."

"Tis not I you should be apologizing to."

"Where," I said. My stomach started to twist itself into a knot. I had already apologized once today, I was not looking forward to doing it a second time. It was the quiet ones people had to watch out for when they got emotional.

"He's in Hannibal's room," she said, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The presents' wrapping crumbled against my chest. My Puppet was with Hannibal! My teeth ground together, time to break up that party.

I exit the room my mother put me in as soon as she saw me. My strides were fast as I moved through the hallway, my focus solely on getting my Puppet back into my hands. Little time passes before I am at Hannibal's door. My hand immediately grasps onto the golden doorknob about to burst in, but I try to knock first, it might reveal what was happening in there.

I rap my fist against the red wooden door, but I stop when I hear my Puppet's sweet voice. I press myself close to the door, listening.

"Oh, Hannibal, we can't be doing this anymore. I don't love you. You were -."

Puppet sounds as if he were in pain and just what were they doing that they couldn't anymore?

"Are you so sure in your answer, cutie? Was it not you who called for me last night? Begged me for a visit to your bedroom after Cato had fallen asleep?"

Hannibal's voice comes in. My brow furrows at what he says. Last night? They were in the same bedroom last night, in my - I correct myself, our bedroom. The one that Peeta and I shared? Am I such a heavy sleeper that I didn't notice, my question-filled thoughts are pushed back when Peeta talks again.

"I don't recall such a thing." My frown becomes deeper; Peeta's a bad liar.

"Oh, I think you do. Indulge me a little though. I want to know, what shall you do if I leave. There are plenty of other people willing to satisfy me. In fact if you really do intend to deny me, I'll leave right now and have Spartacus take your place."

Huh, was Spartacus a part of this too? Would he honestly be a willing partner to Hannibal? Ugh, so many questions that need answers.

"You do not mean that!"

Why is there protest from Puppet, Hannibal can leave. Puppet has me.

"But I do. You aren't anything special."

Hannibal goes too far. Puppet's special, certainly more special than he is.

"Hannibal! Wait! I was only kidding I do love you. Just don't leave me."

That hurts.

"Now, I'm not so sure. Tell me what you shall do to keep me from leaving you."

"Anything you ask."

"Really?" The bed creaks when Hannibal talks and I don't like the sound at all. "Anything?"

"Yes."

"Then, I want you to call me Master and beg for me to come back!"

I sharply inhale at Hannibal's request. My Puppet would never betray me and call another Master. I am his Master, his only Master.

"Master, I need you. You don't know how much my body craves your touch. Master, you have to stay, please. For me! I can still do so much for you..."

That thought I had previously crumbled immediately at my Puppet's words, an image is conjured of Puppet, and I hate it.

"Not good enough, cutie. I think I shall go."

Yes! For the first time since I chose to eavesdrop in on this conversation do I root for Hannibal. My cousin has overstayed his welcome.

"No, please, Master, what do you want me to do? Whatever you ask it shall be done."

I swore. Dammit Puppet, let him go. Hannibal isn't good enough for you.

"Hmm, I want you to kiss me."

Uh no.

"Kiss you? Is that all? Do you not wish for something else?"

Something else hopefully means a kick to the balls. There shan't be any puppet kissing in my house.

"I'm afraid not, cutie. I just want a little kiss today."

"More, Master, more!"

"Only a kiss, cutie."

Hannibal says with that stupid laughter of his.

"Fuck the kiss!"

And there's Puppet... sounding like that. For seconds it's quiet. There is no talking; all I hear are little sounds until my Puppet's voice hits me full on. I wasn't prepared for that. I can clearly hear the bed rocking and my Puppet; he's sounding like Clove when I fuck her. It's clear that he's being pleasured, but I want to play the fool, "Puppet? Is that you! Are you okay?"

It takes an excruciating long time for Puppet to answer and when he does it's a drawn out name, either my name or Hannibal since Puppet now refers to us both as Master. At this moment I couldn't bring myself to care, a carnal desire is building up inside. I want... it doesn't matter what I want at the moment. This is the last straw; I can't allow this to go on any further.

"I'm coming in," I say and twist the doorknob, pushing the door forward and all I can do is stand at the doorway watching like a fool. Puppet's hands are clasped around Hannibal's neck and that bastard is wetly kissing my Puppet's neck while one hand is on the center of Puppet's boxers and I can spot the familiar movement, which is causing my Puppet so much pleasure.

"Hello, Cato, enjoying the show?" Hannibal pulls away from Puppet though his hand is still moving erratically on his boxers. I glare at him, hating him because he knows what I'm feeling right now and he's just pushing my buttons. He knows that he's gotten Puppet before me. He knows that he's just as important, if not more so, to Puppet as I am. I loathe him. Hannibal is an enemy that I couldn't defeat by physical means.

Puppet lets out a deep groan and I can tell he's near, Hannibal smirks shifting his attention, "Let it go, cutie. Come for me!" And Puppet does just that. Damn, if his bliss isn't orgasm inducing. I allow him a moment or two for him to catch his breath until its time for me to get answers.

"Peeta," I say, using his real name, a name that I haven't used verbally in years.

"Yes?"

"Explain."

He gulps, sitting up. Hannibal too gets up from his position and settles Peeta in his lap. He pushes a strand of sweaty, ashy blond hair behind Puppet's ear. Hannibal gives me a single look before he puts his lips to Puppet's ear, I can see them moving quickly and Puppet nods sharply. I exhale, tired of all their shared words and general closeness.

"Peeta, explain," I reiterate.

"Explain what, Master," he says sweetly.

"Don't play dumb," I growl. Hannibal's arms tighten around my Puppet, it's hard to ward off the urge to tear off Hannibal's arms but I manage to do it. After all, I wouldn't like to look like a monster in front of Puppet.

"I'm afraid I'm confused, Master. What do you want an explanation too?"

"When were you going to tell me you were in a relationship?" The words are like acid on the tongue.

"Relationship?"

"Yes, a relationship with Hannibal. When were you going to tell me that you were fucking him?"

"Ooh," he says and tilts his head to the side, a small smile on his lips. "I didn't think you would want to know."

"That's stupid, I am your Master, shouldn't I know where my property has been!" My words are aimed to hurt Puppet as he hurt me today. I feel sadistic pleasure course through me as Puppet stares at me as if I had whipped him a hundred times.

"Property? Is that all I am too you?" He whispers lowly.

"Of course, you're only here for my leisure. You are a mere item that I could discard at any given moment." I laugh heartily, "Did you think anything else? I mean, imagine me caring for something that can easily be replaced and trained yet again. You're just a dog."

"Enough Cato!" Hannibal hollered. His hazel eyes blaze and he grips tighter on Puppet almost like he was afraid to let go. "Do not speak another word."

"Why? It's only the truth. You're using him just like I am. The only difference is that I cared to wait, but I can see that wasn't needed since he spread his legs like some common whore," I jibed.

"Cato, you've gone too far-," Hannibal starts but Puppet interrupts him.

"No, Hannibal. Save your breath. I know the game that Master's playing and if he wants to play then as his servant I shall. Hmph, Master's only angry because he's insecure. He's scared that I might like you better, perhaps love you more. He's jealous of the bond we share and the fact that you're the first person other than him that I come too if I'm ever in trouble.

Adding to the fact, that you remember my most important days and you treat me like I'm your number one. Master's afraid his position is going to be replaced by you, I say that's true already," Puppet purrs. He snickers as he turns around on Hannibal's lap and wounds his arms around Hannibal's neck. "Who's gonna be number one if my **_lover_** isn't?"

Puppet moves mere centimeters to make sure I get a full view before he kisses Hannibal, and its not just a kiss. It's a slow kiss that it's steadily growing if Hannibal's probing hands are anything to go by, and the way Pupp- no! I've had enough!

I can't take it anymore. I'm at the bed in less than three steps pulling Puppet off Hannibal with a surprised yelp from the both of them. I spin Puppet around to face me, now grabbing the front of his shirt, "You are mine. All mine! Nobody else is allowed to touch or even you without my permission," I say indignant, "By Jove, you drive me insane sometimes. You are a minx and I," I clear my throat. No matter how wide or entrancing Puppet's eyes get I will not profess my eternal love or some bullshit like that.

"-I'm your only one! Nobody else," I rumble, glowering at Hannibal briefly. "Understand?"

"Understood, Master," Puppet says with a small smile.

"Excellent," I say. I let of his shirt to grab onto his wrist in an ironclad hold. We're walking out of the room when I hesitate at the doorway, "Hannibal?" My hold on Puppet becomes unyielding.

"Yes?"

"Touch him again and you die," I say harshly, ignoring the gasp from Puppet. I intend to go through with my words. This whole event will not be happening again, not while I'm alive.

"If you say so," Hannibal replies and I can hear the underlying tease in his voice. I grunt, deciding it is time to join the party.

"Come on, Puppet."

* * *

Spartacus enters the room when Peeta and Cato leave, his expression confused. He stands at the end of the bed, watching Hannibal's laid out form curiously. "Why did you do it?"

Hannibal opens one eye, staring straight at Spartacus, "I was wondering when you were going to come out." He sits up and runs a hand through his raven locks.

"You still don't answer my question," Spartacus persists.

"What do you want me to say?" Hannibal remarks lazily. He crosses his arms. To anyone else it may seem that he's staring at Spartacus, but Spartacus knows better. Hannibal isn't focused on him at the moment. He's alone in his thoughts.

"You let Peeta walk away with Cato. You're an expert manipulator, Hannibal. You had all the cards in your favor, why let that happen!" Spartacus snaps.

"Cato is a mere boy, I just wanted him to realize what's in front of him," Hannibal answers hollowly.

"Bull."

"He wanted to be with Cato and who am I to stop him? I care for his happiness, he'll never," Hannibal's eyes widen and he closes his mouth abruptly.

Spartacus' eyebrows raise and finally he understands. "You love him, don't you?"

Hannibal doesn't answer. Instead he waves Spartacus away. Spartacus reluctantly leaves, he chews on his lip, and opens his mouth to say something but he decides against it. Perhaps, it's for the better. When Hannibal is alone once again, he closes his eyes and lies back down.

A young boy with ashy blond hair, a brilliant smile, eyes like a cloudless summer day, and a smell akin to freshly baked bread streaks across his mind. A deep sigh and Hannibal admits it,

"Yes, I love him."


	6. If Juliet Chose Paris

**Hello dear readers. -nervous laughter- So, I may have been gone for awhile but a lot of my cousins had graduations, I had exams, and lots of other things. If it makes you feel better I updated a day before it was a whole month! Yeah! -coughs at the awkward silence-**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hokey Pokey, Romeo and Juliet, and the Hunger Games. I don't think I want them anyway to be honest. Besides the Hoey Pokey, that was a cornerstone of childhood. XD**

**Warnings -deep breath-: Slash; pedophilia; bad grammar; bad storytelling; OCs; overuse of many phrases and words; improper use of too; to; and susurrate, historical names (see if you can catch them all!); horrible attempt at symbolism; Drarry; Freddy vs Jason; more Peeta/Hannibal than Peeta/Cato (WTF!); ****obscene language; tenses changing rather abruptly due to authoress' stupidness and lots; and lots of other things.**

**In conclusion... you guys are going to hate me...**

**Thank you to all reviewers, alerters, stalkers, favoriters, and lurkers. Love ya.**

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**Fragments**

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**Chapter Six: If Juliet Chose Paris**

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_You put your left foot in_

_You put your left foot out_

_You put your left foot in_

_And you shake it all about_

_You do the hokey pokey_

_And you turn it all around_

_That's what its all about_

Peeta sings softly as he grabs Trajan's soft ivory hands, a grin easily spreads on his face the more Trajan became red with joy. His Master's mother, Mistress, had given birth to the babe a year ago, just after his own birthday. He was born with a head full of curly red hair and the brightest green eyes that put emeralds to shame. "You're going to break so many hearts, including mine, little Eros," Peeta says affectionately to his little Master.

Trajan responds with an excited gurgle, letting go of Peeta's hands falling down to the carpeted ground with a muted thud. Trajan sits there in speechless awe. _The little tyke,_ Peeta observes, runs his hands over the dark blue carpet so very intrigued by its soft texture. As if a light bulb suddenly flips on, Trajan glances upward at Peeta, clapping madly. Peeta can't help but do a clap of his own. "What made you so happy?"

Trajan, named for a brilliant war strategist and emperor, blows a raspberry. He makes grabbing motions toward Peeta's hands signaling that he wants to stand up. Peeta swipes Trajan's hands within his own, gently ushering the child onto two feet. Trajan wobbles for a minute, cautiously trying to steady himself. Despite him being a year and a couple of months Trajan has only just started to walk, neither Peeta nor the family cares for that. He's a welcome delight and despite his limited ability to walk Trajan has grasped small words quickly. It's so adorable. Peeta grins, he's thankful that Mistress has sort of appointed him as Trajan's main caretaker. Now a days Trajan seems to be his little ray of light in this darkness.

Peeta eyes Trajan finding his Master in his small facial features. His angular face and the way he pouts when things don't go his way, Peeta can clearly tell this is his Master's little brother. Speaking of Master, Peeta dips his head, falling into quiet introspection; his Master had been acting so different recently. No longer is he the over-confident, domineering, and arrogant boy around him. Master was so queer at times. Often did Master call his attention only for him to start with "Peeta, I," and then whatever he was going to say morphed into a jumbled up mess, until he eventually regained his composure to wave him off to some menial job usually assigned to the Avoxes. Peeta didn't get so much as an explanation to his Master's actions.

Added to that behavior, he wasn't allowed to go anywhere without Master knowing where and with whom. And that wasn't the worst part. Soon he found that mentioning to Master that he was hanging out with Hannibal seemed to mean Master must tag along, even if Master had a prior matter to attend too. And when Master and Hannibal are out together, Peeta groans, the tension between those two was palpable and that's just when they met. Master in a stroke of brilliance (jealousy) had enforced a no touching rule, meaning no longer is he allowed to hug Hannibal - never mind that they've been hugging **every** **time** they meet since he was **six****.** Hannibal couldn't do so much as pat him on the head. What joy.

Peeta doesn't even want to go into the competition between them.

Competition, the word seems almost synonymous to District 2. District 2 was literally a gladiatorial state. On every street there were lined up venues advertising competition. Master always pressed Hannibal into some form of competition, and he was involved in the mess to form guidelines or determine the victor.

Dear Panem. Peeta rubs his eyes, he enjoyed the attention Master lavished on him. At first. No longer did he go to Clove's house and he seemed reluctant to even leave his side. It felt wonderful to Peeta, he was never subjected to the sharp burn of jealously or that dejected feel of abandonment, but after while it became too much. He yearned to spend some time by himself, more specifically by himself with Hannibal. Peeta would even go so far to say he'd commission Master a little time with Clove to relief Master of his dogged attention on him.

Alas! Peeta squeezes his eyes shut; he felt as if he was the wind's plaything. Tossed ceaselessly in so many directions without a guide. Master, Hannibal, and he, a boy of fourteen, shouldn't be acting like a lovesick fool. Mock fights and the Hunger Games should fill his head, not those two. Squeezing his eyes further in utter defeat and frustration, he knew that no matter how hard he tried in some way or another his thoughts would stray. To whom he couldn't say.

A low whine pierces through his thoughts. Peeta opens his eyes in bewilderment. _Who-_, Peeta peeks down to see Trajan whimpering and tugging furiously at his hands. "Ta! Ta-Ta!" Trajan wails. Peeta wastes no time in picking up Trajan, rocking his little Master.

"I'm sorry, baby," Peeta soothes. It only takes a few minutes for Trajan to calm down. Trajan blinks back tears, apparently happy that he has possessed Peeta's attention once more. He touches Peeta's face with his chubby fingers producing a large smile - small pearly whites aimed at him. "Why, aren't you the little manipulator," Peeta teases. Trajan blinks up at Peeta, the very picture of innocence. "I won't fall for it."

"Why, cutie, I think you already have," a new voice adds in playfully. Both Peeta and Trajan turn to the person, but the two have very different reactions.

"Hanbal!" Trajan bounces up and down in Peeta's arms, waving erratically to 'Hanbal'. Peeta becomes tight lipped and drained. He takes a step back as Hannibal takes a step forward. He persists in the same fashion until he's backed up unto a wall, Trajan, his only shield.

_...Only when I think of you do you come_, is the forefront of Peeta's thoughts. His eyes widen, Hannibal's close to him. Too close. They would be touching chests if it weren't for a wriggling Trajan. "You, why, Master would not approve of you being here without him present," Peeta says shakily. There it was again. His thoughts were straying to forbidden regions. "Please...go..." He wasn't quite sure what he wanted to go.

His heart thumps wildly in his chest, a flash of hurt crosses Hannibal's face. "You wish for me to leave?"

"Yes! Wait, I meant no! I mean...Panem, Hannibal, why are you here? He could be back at any second and you know how he gets," Peeta blubbers, mentally kicking himself at his indecisive attitude. He was in a state of turmoil. What did he want? What was right and what was wrong? Honestly, Peeta hadn't a clue anymore. When Hannibal comes, all sense of right flies outta the window.

"Krypteia will hold Cato for a few hours. I want to talk," Hannibal says, holding his hands up in surrender.

"We can talk when Master gets here. At this moment I'm afraid it won't be possible," Peeta says quietly. He regrets his words when he sees Hannibal's face crumble but he holds himself. He will not comfort Hannibal. Not right now. Not when he's feeling like this. _No_, he told himself firmly.

"Livy," Hannibal calls quietly. An unknown Avox rushes passed him to take Trajan from Peeta's arms. Peeta doesn't even protest. This isn't something he wants Trajan exposed too. This situation was between Hannibal and him. So, when Trajan is whisked out of the room, Peeta and Hannibal have a long staring match.

"Leave until Master comes back," Peeta breaks the silence. He can't talk to Hannibal right now. Hannibal can't be with him alone. The secrets he holds will undoubtedly spill from his mouth. Hannibal has always had that ability to make the unbidden come forth.

"Goodness!" Hannibal roars. "It's been a little over a year since that particular birthday. Has he really brainwashed you against me. Did I make a mistake in helping you that day?"

Peeta says nothing, he averts his eyes and that alone says it all. Peeta doesn't even flinch as Hannibal gets up in his face, vainly searching. Peeta determined though. He's not going to breakdown. "Where's my cutie?" Hannibal asks softly. "Why can't I see him?"

Peeta licks his lips. He chooses his next words ever so carefully. This would be a big push. He prays that Hannibal will understand. "I'm not your cutie, I'm Master's Puppet. Forever and always."

"You don't mean that," Hannibal says confidently.

"Are you sure, Hannibal? When Master claimed me I was no longer yours," Peeta responds just as confident.

"You're hiding from me. I can tell. Its written all over your face. My dear, haven't I already told you I can read you like a book, a picture book. Enlighten me. What are you hiding?" Hannibal switches tactics.

Peeta bites his lip to prevent any sort of sound. Is it possible that he knows? No, it's impossible. He clenches his fists. He won't be the one to give in. "I'm not hiding anything from you, Hannibal. I think your time is up. Go until Master arrives home."

"I have at least two hours. I won't leave until you tell me what's eating at you. You're hiding from me and for what reason?" Hannibal remains stubborn.

"I am my Master's puppet, Hannibal of Carthage," Peeta replies, using Hannibal's old codename, knowing all to well what he has just said -no- implied. Hannibal's past history... he has jabbed. History that Hannibal had confided in him, history that Peeta knew how much Hannibal wished to bury because he still had nightmares without fail **every** night.

Hannibal drops his arms from Peeta as if he's doused in some sort of acid. He stumbles back violently, his face startlingly blank, "I shouldn't have...never-mind, its clear now. I thought you personally like to be informed of my departure. I don't know when I'll be back. I can see though I was wrong. Tell Cato goodbye for me."

It takes Peeta a moment for him to discern what Hannibal recently said, and then his resolve breaks. "You're leaving!" He shouts in disbelief. His legs take him to Hannibal who has stopped midway through the doorway. "You're leaving?" He repeats.

"Yes," Hannibal replies stiffly. His back turned toward him.

"You can't leave though!"

"And why can't I? President Snow requires my very presence and... services."

The subtle jab stings, but Peeta is obstinate. "Well, I require your services too. Surely, you're able to come up with some excuse so you don't have to go." He prays Hannibal reads the true meaning behind his words.

"You have Cato. What do you need me for?"

Peeta opens his mouth, a long list of why he needs Hannibal is drawn up in nanoseconds, "My halberd training!"

"Commodus is teaching you well-enough."

"Academic subjects. You're my tutor."

"Cicero will happily take over."

"I need someone to talk too."

"I'm sure Spartacus, Cato, and many of your other District friends will talk to you and give you counsel when you need it. Peeta, I grow tired of these excuses. If you couldn't give me sufficient reason then allow me to take my leave. I'm running late and President Snow will not be happy."

"And what of my happiness!" Peeta replies hotly. "Does that mean so little to you?"

"If that is all," Hannibal ignores him, resuming his walk.

"I know what you're doing, Hannibal. I'm sorry that I pained you but I don't want you to go. Stay for me."

"That isn't enough, Peeta," Hannibal retorts. His back still turned toward Peeta and himself still walking. Now, he had made it halfway through the yellow hallways.

Desperation fills Peeta. Hannibal just couldn't leave because, because, he wouldn't dare say it: "But I love you!" He cries out. Well, there goes that plan. Hannibal freezes just as Peeta slaps a hand over his mouth, trembling. This was exactly why he wanted Hannibal to leave until Master came home. What he wanted to stay in went rushing out.

"R-repeat that."

Peeta shakes his head. His hand firmly clamped on his traitorous mouth. He backs into the drawing room where this whole situation started, sliding down onto the fluffy green couch. Hannibal makes his appearance not a moment later, standing in front of Peeta. They're back to staring each other down. Peeta would never have to same eye power as Hannibal; he's the first to look away.

"I heard what you said. There's no point in hiding it, so repeat it."

Peeta still isn't willing to talk and he won't. He slides further into the couch, staunch in his position. His hand is still on his mouth. Peeta hopes that it will remain there until his Master comes home. Then he can be trusted to speak again.

Hannibal kneels in front of Peeta, examining him critically. He hesitantly takes Peeta's hand in his own. "You know, cutie. Sometimes I forget that you're a fourteen-year-old boy. And I'm too old to be playing this game with you, but Panem knows that if I could I'd stop... I have to go. That is obsolete. I couldn't even hope to stay unless I'm due to have a child in less than three days. I'm sorry to be leaving you like this, I really am, " he murmurs, caressing Peeta's cheek with a single finger.

Hannibal sighs, "You're a smart child, cutie. So, I'll leave you with something." He grips Peeta's other hand, forcing it away from his mouth with ease. He then presses a soft chaste kiss on his lips. The blush forms on Peeta's cheeks just as Hannibal stands.

"Is that what you're leaving me with?"

Hannibal laughs shortly, a wry smile on his lips. "No. I leave you with a single question: what if Paris was Juliet's Romeo?"

Peeta cocks his head at the strange question, already thinking furiously. Hannibal just laughs again, briskly retracing his steps toward the exit. He waves until Hannibal leaves his eyesight. As soon as he's gone, Peeta falls on the couch, his upper torso stretched all the way. Hannibal's never been gone for more than three days since he had picked him up from his District eight years ago. It's a huge blow to Peeta. Already does he feel empty and alone.

Hannibal has to come back pronto. Not even a full minute has passed and a desolate mood encompasses him. He pulls his legs up to his chest, squirming to get comfortable. Peeta snuggles up to the back of the couch imagining the night he was sold and Hannibal was his only comfort. He finds solace in that memory. Slowly.

Ever so slowly, Peeta closes his eyes. "Come back home to me," he susurrates.

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"Where are you?" Peeta quietly asks to himself. Two years have passed since Hannibal had left. Many things have changed in that time period, such as the 'secret' relationship between Cato and him, although Peeta's pretty sure that the whole District knows.

"Who are you talking too?" Cato tugs on their intertwined hands to grab Peeta's attention.

"Nobody," Peeta says in a lilting voice, pasting a smile on for Cato. Master, or rather Cato, because Cato demanded it after they started dating, has been trying so hard to keep his mind off of Hannibal, but it's a challenging task. No letters have been mailed to him, no word from the other peacekeepers in District 2. He can't help his worry.

"Hmm, let me rephrase the question. What or rather whom are you thinking about?" Cato questions. Peeta can't help his little inhale. Peeta wanted to discuss this at home, when they were alone, not when they were literally surrounded by everyone in the District.

"Nobody," Peeta replies.

"Lying is a sin," Cato says shortly. "I know you were thinking about him." Cato tries to extract his fingers but Peeta holds fast, giving Cato a hard stare.

"So, what if I was?" Peeta responds a little too sharply. "I'm worried... as always," he finishes bitterly. "Look, there's no reason to be jealous," Peeta doesn't even blink at the glare thrown his way for insinuating jealousy, "he's never not on my mind and I don't think that'll change until he comes home."

"Why, are you so focused on **him** all the damn time? Even when we're out like this," he gestures to the Coliseum around him. All of the people of the District and some persons from the Capitol have compiled in, waiting for the yearly gift; "Or training, without fail do you manage to gain the misty sheen in your eyes when thinking about **him**..."

Peeta doesn't get a chance to answer Cato. The lights dim around them. A Capitol woman ornately dressed struts onto the stage placed in the middle of the giant arena. She taps the mike twice before clearing her voice, effectively grabbing everyone's attention.

"Welcome, welcome, people of District 2. For winning the..." At this point Peeta tunes her out, having heard the speech every year. In a nutshell the District was rewarded and appeased for being the Capitol's lap and guard dogs. Every year they were given something usually only the Capitol and Victors got to experience. Last year everyone was given a TV with channels other than the Hunger Games, and the year before that they were given a select number of forbidden books.

"...Romeo and Juliet," the Capitol woman squealed, clapping her hands together. "Enjoy!" She crows, walking off of the stage. The lights around them shut off and a single spotlight is shined directly in the middle of the stage. A stout man dressed in simple tunic and tights comes from behind the red curtain. He approaches the microphone stand and his deep voice booms around them:

"Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;

Whose misadventured piteous overthrows

Do with their death bury their parents' strife.

The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,

And the continuance of their parents' rage,

Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,

Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;

The which if you with patient ears attend,

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend."

Peeta grips Cato's hand tighter. The argument between them forgotten. This play would be the thing to give him answers. He smiles in the dark.

The play drags on for two long hours, but the acting of the Capitol people enraptures everyone. They did not talk with their stupid accents nor did they do anything to suggest their initial upbringing. The play was utterly perfect and Peeta was sure every person stood up and clapped when the Prince came out to give his final words.

The lights turn on and everyone moves to leave. Peeta persuades Cato to wait until there were only a few stragglers left until they themselves made their exit. For one it was easier and two, Peeta didn't want Cato to push his way through the crowd, potentially hurting someone, and he desired to question Cato unaccompanied.

"What if Juliet chose Paris?" Peeta asks when they were finally alone.

"Then it wouldn't be Romeo and Juliet!" Cato answers playfully, a wide grin on his face.

Peeta laughs in spite of himself. "I mean it, Cato."

"Hmm." Cato contemplates, "Well, she and Romeo wouldn't have died and the grudge between the Montague's and Capulet's wouldn't have changed. Paris seemed like the wimpy type of dude compared to Romeo; so, I guess Juliet would be fine with Paris, but I doubt that Paris could provide the passion Romeo brings into the relationship. They'd be a regular-old couple. Nothing special happen to them if Juliet chose Paris. I'm pretty sure Romeo easily find another girl just like Juliet."

Peeta nods in mock agreement, standing up along with Cato. "Let's go."

Peeta only half listens as Cato chatters while walking them home. His mind drifts back a certain question all those years ago and finally he gets it, but he doesn't voice his discovery. Cato was right with both of the main characters being alive and Romeo finding another girl just as easily as he had found Juliet. Paris, though, would ultimately be the better choice for as he may be... Peeta fervently shakes his head; he doesn't want to think any further.

He gets it and that's what matters the most.


	7. Superfluous

**Ello! I swear to God, I was going to update yesterday but my power went out because of some stupid storm and there were guests staying about my house so, I had no way to update. Sorry again! Ok, we're good with that I would like to move on to a very delicate subject... I swear to my Gods that Hannibal wrote himself. I did not mean to make him a major character in this story anyways, it just sort of happened. Going on to say that, yes, this is still a Cato/Peeta story. There is a reason why I'm doing what I'm doing. I promise, just bear with me please... still if the readers want more Pannibal(love the couple name, btw) I may be incline to indulge for a bit. ;)**

**I want to thank all my lovely reviewers, readers, alerters, stalkers, and favoriters. Wanna get to a hundred this chapter?**

**Warnings: Filler, short chapter, three changes in tenses, bad grammar, OCs, perverted notions, and a whole bunch more. I'm too tired to name stuff for right now.**

**...**

**Anyone up for being my beta in the sequel?**

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**Fragments**

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**Chapter Seven: Superfluous**

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Two long arduous years I've been working this job. It's been two years of utter seclusion, working in the shadows, bribing, tracking, and torture. Under President Snow's orders my personally trained team and myself were to look into a rumor involving an upcoming rebellion with a fine toothcomb. Countless people I've interrogated, all of them eventually lead to Plutarch Heavensbee, a relatively powerful man that played the internal Capitol Games so well he had President Snow's favor. One would not think Plutarch would have a hand in creating this potential dangerous catastrophe. I wonder if he'd talk during interrogation, I mean there was no lying. I had all the cards and he had none. This was my last interrogation, and it would be my fastest.

I entered a small colorless room where he was being held. There was nothing in the room besides a square desk, two chairs on either side of the desk, and a swinging ceiling lamp. A bit cliché, but hey, it got the job done. I took a seat across Plutarch eyeing his flamingo feathered hair with distaste. What the Capitol saw in the appeal of their fashion, I'll never understand. "I must commend you for eluding us for so long. I believe the last record held was three days," I said pleasantly. Plutarch grinned, winking. Fantastic, I seared the image of his self-assured persona into my memory. I gave him two minutes at most.

"Your people are loyal, but they aren't loyal enough and eventually all of them broke telling me of the Rebellion." I smirked at the minute sign of nervousness Plutarch showed before covering it up with an assured mask. "As you could imagine President Snow was very angry. I mean I would be too when one of his favored Gamemakers was bringing about a mutin-,"

"You'll never get away with this!" Plutarch abruptly cried. Too easy, this one was. "There are others waiting in the wings to take my place in case a situation like this ever happened!" I stared at him for a full minute taking in the seriousness and determination the traitor seemed to possess. How stupid can this man be? Did he not think me or any of my team had not known that? The audacity of this man! We had implemented the very fact into our plans and Snow had approved.

"How shortsighted you presume we are, Plutarch, is a bit concerning. There's a reason for your survival," I said, crossing my arms. I quite liked the way the color seemed to drain from his face. The realization that everything he and his little mutineers were striving for was in vain. "You've grown up in the Capitol and know their laws. President Snow tolerates no traitors in his kingdom. However, you have use to us." I leaned in real close, I could see myself in his eyes and I admitted I looked scary as hell with my current feral appearance.

"What are you going to do?" He asked, brokenly. There was no more zest or zeal coming from him. This paltry man had conceded so easily to defeat. I'm disgusted that it took us this long to get a hold of this spineless fool. His "great plans" were crumbling with each second that ticked by on the clock. I sneered at him. I felt no pity for this man. He was the reason I had been kept from my precious for so long. He was the reason I couldn't even write a letter. I was getting my revenge. And how sweet it was.

"Good question," I mockingly praised. "You're going to be Head Gamemaker for the upcoming Quell and there you'll gather everyone involved in the Rebellion, then we," I gestured to myself, "shall take over from there. Understand?"

He nodded as if he was a marionette controlled by a puppeteer. Stiff.

Good.

"Fabulous! Now, that we've got that out of the way you are to be released back into the Capitol. You are to go on with your pathetic daily life until President Snow calls for you. Remember every move you make we'll be watching." I arose from my seat, heading to the door. Plutarch would stay in this room to be questioned some more on some basic stuff by some trainee but Gods I was done.

"There's no rest for the wicked," Plutarch spoke up just as I reached the door. I snorted. Unfortunately for him, that idiom was not one of the few that I heeded.

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The door slams shut leaving Peeta with Cato. They stare at each other in what seems like an eternity. Both of them couldn't believe after ten years of being in each other's constant presence it was finally time to part, and for once they couldn't follow the same path. Neither admitted to it, but it hurts more than anything because just when they were starting their relationship, it has to end. Fate is truly a cruel bitch that loved to toy with her subjects.

"Say something," Cato breaks the silence.

Peeta's in shock, a white rage curls around him directed at Cato, and Peeta can't find the reason why. He's aware that he's angry, so fucking angry that Cato has requested he speak. How dare he do that to him? What could he possibly say to his departing lover? Nothing! Nothing would be enough to sum up the grief he feels. Hannibal left, and now it seems to be Cato's turn. How dare Cato tell him to say something? Did he not understand the monumental situation he was in?

Cato opens his arms wide and Peeta takes his chance. He pounces onto him, landing them both on the bed, and starts his harsh tirade; beating down on Cato's chest, most likely bruises will be there the next morning. "You fucking bastard! Did you not think of your family or _**me**_ when you volunteered for the Hunger Games? Was glory and honor the only thing you had running through your mind! You're leaving me all alone with no guarantee of your safe return you arrogant, moronic, narcissistic, selfish, megalomaniac fool!"

"Peeta -, " Cato begins, raising his arms but Peeta holds him down.

"No!" Hot tears gather in Peeta's eyes, if he had been raised in any other District they would be free to run, but here tears are exclusively reserved for the women and children. Peeta is neither, so, he holds them back exerting a great effort. "No! You will listen Cato Alexander Scipio, and you will listen well. I fucking love you but I've already been in this situation. The outcome is written in stone. My love isn't enough for you to stay, is it? You will leave regardless." His hits are becoming sluggish, but he never stops. All his anguish is going into each blow.

Why does it hurt so much? The knowledge of Cato volunteering had been told to him multiple times since he first came to District 2. Peeta couldn't understand. Cato reaches out, clasping Peeta's wrists together in a strong hold. Peeta doesn't bother to struggle he was too emotionally expended. "Peeta, it won't be for long. You must know that I'll come back," Cato says, uncharacteristically soft.

"You aren't psychic, Cato! The only thing, you know is that you have a 1/24th chance at winning. Nothing more and nothing less!"

Cato balks. "Do you have any faith in me?"

"Faith!" Peeta laughs, humorless. "It isn't that I haven't got faith in you, that's such an insignificant thing in the arena. I'm afraid you're going to die and you aren't going to come back home... to me! I can't live without you, Cato. _**I can't**_," he stresses.

Cato struggles to sit up with Peeta, but he manages. For the first time, in a long time, Peeta takes the time to study his Cato. He's broad shouldered; tall and sturdy like a boulder. He's attractive with his short dark blond hair and chocolate eyes, but there were small microscopic scars that decorated Cato's body, and Peeta's proud to say he knows where all of them are and has even given him a portion of them. "My foolish Puppet, do you doubt your Master so?"

Peeta swallows. "Never."

"Then trust in me, right now," Cato says and Peeta looks in askance at him. Cato's voice is alike a siren's lull. It's alluring to him, but Peeta won't fall for it. Not this time. He crosses his arms, staring pointedly at Cato.

"You'll gain my trust if you promise me something," Peeta remarks in a tone that leaves little room for playing around. He truly means his next words, maybe this promise will be enough of an incentive for Cato not to be foolhardy and for him to use all the gray matter in-between his ears.

"What?"

"You will come back and take what's mine to give."

"What?" Cato repeats and Peeta rolls his eyes. It can never be a two-in-one-deal with guys; they can't both have brains and good looks. He leans in, whispering in Cato's ear. Cato in turn gives Peeta a double take, "You mean it?"

Peeta nods.

"I'll definitely promise then!" Cato grins wildly. He whoops loudly, practically bouncing on the bed. Peeta did not think that Cato would be this excited, and this quickly. He duly notes a specific -ahem- organ pressing against his backside. He swears.

"Thank you, you have my trust now," Peeta says dryly. The doors burst open at his words and Cato sneezes randomly. Three Peackeepers walk in, as usual they hold themselves with an air of authority but Cato and Peeta barely blink an eye at their presence. It would take a lot more than three Peacekeepers to take them on.

"Time for visitors to leave," the unnamed one in the front says. Peeta can detect a hint of nervousness in his voice. Must be a newbie, they were fun to play with but this wasn't the time.

"Yeah, Yeah, I'm going." Peeta stands up from Cato, the familiar pang of them separating immediately there. Cato apparently has other plans; he hangs onto one of Peeta's wrist, forcing him to twist around to face him again. "Huh?" Peeta manages before he's lurched forward by Cato's powerful tug. Cato meets him halfway, ardently kissing him. Peeta can tell by how hard and quick, and unexpected the kiss is that Cato was saying his goodbyes. And just as the kiss starts, it ends. Cato nips his bottom lip, letting go of Peeta to stand up himself. He winks at Peeta.

"Only a precursor, babe."

Peeta flushes at Cato's lascivious tone, but tastefully decides not to respond. He waves a final goodbye to Cato, sliding between the Peacekeepers to leave the room. He appeals to all deities possible as he treks back home. His heart growing heavier at each step he takes away from his beloved. He tells himself that Cato soon will be home and all will return back to normal.

Right?

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Cato folded his arms, his eyes locked on Peeta's form until the blond vacated the room. "So, how long until the train leaves?" Cato inquired, settling back on the bed. He did not appear all that concerned with the obvious bulge in his pants.

"In thirty minutes," the one on the right answered briskly.

"I'll be done in ten. Can I get some magazines, a couple of tissues, and lotion? The sex of the people in the magazines don't really matter either," Cato said, tactless as usual. He raised an eyebrow at two of the Peacekeepers who were discreetly blushing and the other, the one centered in front, cocked his head to the side in confusion.

He dug into his pants pocket, easing out a small bottle of lotion, throwing it to Cato. "I don't understand why do you want those things? It sounds kinda odd." Three sets of eyes blinked at him, all wondering if they heard correctly.

"How old are you?" Cato asked, trying and failing to keep his laughter at bay. The other two Peacekeepers weren't faring much better; both of them were coughing to keep their laughter hidden.

"Nineteen," the Peacekeeper answered naive. Cato merely wore his patent smirk. Although Cato was younger by a year, the Peacekeeper was a kid. The kid was innocent. It was adorable. Cato almost felt bad for potentially corrupting the poor sap.

"I'm eighteen, enough about ages though. Can you get me those items or not?"

"Erm, sure, I'll be back." He awkwardly moved passed his fellow Peacekeepers, disappearing down the hall to the main sitting room in the Justice Building. More than ever was he perplexed. He resigned to ask his mother when he got back home.

"So..."

"His parents wanted him to get some real world experience," one of them said whilst rubbing his temples. The Peacekeeper next to him simply shook his head in exasperation.

Cato snickered, "I see."


	8. Reunion of Sorts

**So, my lovely dears I updated again! I'm so proud of myself usually it takes me like six months to get up to this point, so you guys count yourself lucky that I'm updating at this speed. I'm trying to plan out all my future stories, but I'm a jotter not a planner by any means. X) Like seriously. =.=' In other news, I shall address that this story should be around 13-15 chapters. Really short for a reason.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. All I own is my attention-stealing OC Hannibal.**

**Thank you's to all my reviewers, stalkers, alerters, favoriters, and lurkers. WE MADE IT TO A HUNDRED PLUS SIX! XD Mega thanks to super cool beta HIME-KOI!**

**Warnings: Bad grammar, bad chapter(skip it~), obscene language, flashback, weird tenses, Glimmer, Marvel, Thresh, and Rue's last names are subject to change, hints of Finnick/Peeta(he was like seven!), overused words and crap, sappyish reunion, the flow is all wrong, and a whole bunch of stuff I'm too lazy to mention.**

**Lastly to my anonymous reviewer "Thedeadguy": Firstly, my story is horrible because it is too over detailed and because I didn't relate slavery to the past, and you find this story hard to imagine? Well, I heard that its better to write more than less. How exactly would you want me to relate slavery to past? Would you like me to break Peeta's spirit, live with the Avoxes, be treated no better than an a animal, and have no say in any matter whatsoever? Cato is also the big-bad slave master and Hannibal is an uses Peeta on the side? Make no mistake neither Cato or Hannibal are nice people. I can definitely write Peeta as a wholly subservient person and is only with Cato because Cato forced him. And finally, this story is hard to imagine? I'm sorry, I giggled at that. Exactly what of this story is hard to imagine? **

**That's all. On to the story.**

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**Fragments**

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**Chapter Eight: Reunion of Sorts**

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Peeta hums a jaunty song from a musical done by the District's schoolchildren. Lively, it may be it is not exactly a tone one can dance to; nevertheless, he sways his hips side-to-side, following the erratic beat of the song. A plastic marine-colored bowl is clutched in the crook of his arm; dark chocolate mixing fills the bowl to the brim. He stirs the heavy substance with a silver spoon counterclockwise, conscious enough to scrape any remaining dry spots into the mixture. Peeta pretends that he could not see a small child with wild, curly, flaming red hair and impish green eyes approach him. "Trajan," the name is said inaudibly. The smallest male in the house recently adopted a mischievous side, popping out and playing pranks on all residents of the household. Peeta gladly indulges Trajan; his harmless shenanigans were an easy way to take the mind of certain subjects.

Peeta's humming doesn't let up an inch as Trajan performs elaborate 'ninja' movements in order to hide from plain sight, whilst getting closer to Peeta. The only sign of Peeta's amusement is the crinkling at the corners of his eyes. Trajan scampers behind Peeta; ignorant of the way the older teenager momentarily tenses for mock horror. Trajan uses the age-old trick of tapping Peeta in different spots on his back, prompting Peeta to turn in every which way to see who touched him. "Hello? Who's there?" Peeta asks, confusedly.

"Helloooo~," Peeta draws out, spinning around and around only to meet air. Peeta can hear high-pitched giggling, but doesn't make the little fact known. The tapping dies down after a minute and Peeta shrugs, setting his bowl down on the granite counter. "I guess whoever was doing that left! Boy, am I glad!" Peeta says loudly. He switches his hums to innocuous whistles. Only a matter of time before...

"ROAR!" Trajan jumps out from behind Peeta. His recently grown in teeth are bared, his face a light coloring of pink, and his tiny hands are an imitation of a bear's. Peeta gasps dramatically as he holds onto his red shirt. He scuttles back as Trajan advances forward, growling. Peeta drives the urge to pull Trajan in a hug away. He was too adorable for words.

"Trajan hungwy, Ta! Trajan eat Ta!" Trajan licks his rose lips to prove a point.

Peeta inclines his head briefly to control the growing smile at Trajan's antics. He lifts his head to look at Trajan. "You wouldn't want to eat me, Trajan. I taste yucky!" Peeta sticks his tongue to show his disgust. "I think you would much rather have this!" Peeta waggles around the chocolate covered silver spoon he'd used for stirring. Trajan zooms to Peeta, his arms wrap themselves around Peeta's legs as he stares up at him, pleading.

"Trajan want! Trajan want!"

"Hmm," Peeta taps his index finger against his chin. "I wonder if Trajan deserves the spoon. After all he hasn't even said the magic word." Peeta throws a pointed look at Trajan, still tapping his chin speculatively. "Mistress loves chocolate and she'll surely know the magic word." Peeta still in act is oblivious to a tall man entering in the kitchen and grinning at him from behind before becoming a blur, darting up to Peeta and wrapping his arms loosely around his neck.

"Stop teasing him," a deep voice murmurs in the shell of his ear. A flurry of intense emotion bundles up in Peeta, and then he whirls around so fast to face the newcomer. Little has changed about him; the little he talks about is the thick air of paranoia surrounding him, and a jagged scar running horizontal across his nose. Besides those minor attributes, Peeta can clearly see one of his favorite people in Panem.

"Hannibal, you idiot!" Peeta chides. If Cato had done the same thing as Hannibal and left for two years, Peeta would be whaling all over him to present his happiness at his safe return. Hannibal though was different; while Peeta could never lay a hand on Hannibal, it didn't stop him from giving him a good tongue-lashing.

Despite, him being ready to give Hannibal a verbal beating of a lifetime, his words died on him and with the three most platitude words next to 'I love you.' Damn. For lack of better imagery, he stood there, bug-eyed, wide-mouthed, and pointer finger left hanging in the air with the spoon dripping chocolate on the pristine tiled floor:

"I missed you."

And alike some cheesy, overrated, moody romantic movie crap that the Capitol ladies and fat vasectomized men loved, Peeta closes the minuscule gap, throwing his arms around Hannibal. "I missed you too," he says, forgetting about the spoon in his hand. They are still in each other's embrace for until Trajan stomps his foot. His clenches his fingers around the hem of Peeta's red shirt, pulling with all his might.

"Ta! Ta! Trajan want spoon. Trajan want spoon, please!" Trajan whines, his face scrunched up. Peeta and Hannibal step back from each other, entertained by the babe's oncoming temper tantrum. Peeta bends down to Trajan's eye level, holding out the coveted silver utensil. Trajan wastes no time, he snatches the spoon from Peeta inserting it into his mouth. A pleased expression on his face, he nods to Peeta and then he scurries off in his own lalaland.

"He hasn't learned to say thank you," Peeta says with a smile, creeping back up to his full height.

"Cutie, that's the Scipio way. Pleases and Thank You's are for the plebeians. They are only to be used when we want something," Hannibal smirks. Peeta hits him on the arm, playfully. There is no awkwardness, it's as if Hannibal never left.

"Trajan's goin' to be an asshole if he hears you talk like that," Peeta reprimands lightly.

"Hey, I'm doing him a favor. Girls don't like nice guys. It's a fact they go for the assholes!" Hannibal laughs, and it's a riveting sound. Peeta wants him to laugh as long as possible. He hasn't heard it in ages and he missed it, greatly.

"Liar," Peeta sniffs. He brushes pass Hannibal with a grin assuming he'd follow him as he makes his way to the living room. The Hunger Games were about to begin. Today was the day full of Reapings. Usually Peeta ignored this part of the Hunger Games event because they were boring. He knew Districts One, Two, and Four would be the only Districts proud to be apart of the Games. They were only Districts that respected and understood the need for the Games. The other Districts were another matter altogether. All of them abhorred the Games, and their tributes were almost always in some sort of somber, melancholy mood. Idiots, the lot of them. The benefits of winning the Games greatly outweighed the negatives. Nevertheless, Peeta wouldn't forgo this opportunity to inspect this year's contenders; he had to see what Cato was up against.

Peeta comes into the living room where he sits on the floor, his back supported by the couch. Mistress, Sir, even little Trajan were seated on the couch. They subtly acknowledged Peeta, their main attention directed toward the large plasma TV. Peeta instantly recognizes Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman. Both were highly influential men in the Capitol.

Claudius, although not as eccentric as Caesar, was just as identifiable by the public. Claudius was gifted with a large booming voice and a certain arrogant air around him that only people in high society managed to achieve. He narrated the Hunger Games every year since Peeta could remember. Then there was Caesar; the man was sociable and amiable. He was warm, kind-hearted, and he could get a crowd raving in ten seconds flat. His main job was the Interviewing of each tribute, but every other year or so, he'd join Claudius to narrate the Hunger Games journey.

"Good morning people of Panem!" Claudius starts, a tinge of anticipation in his voice. He looks jubilant in a periwinkle blue suit and his wild, blond curls tamed for once.

"Good morning indeed, we've got an interesting line up of tributes this year. Don't we, Claudius?" Caesar follows after Claudius. Peeta grins when he sees Caesar's color for this year. Monochromatic Blue. It compliments him well.

"That we do, Caesar! I think District Twelve stole the show, it's sure to be a Capitol favorite. Ah, it's been awhile since we've seen you-,"

"Claudius!" Caesar interrupts, aghast but everyone can tell he's faking. Peeta has a hunch Caesar is itching to let Claudius continue whatever he was saying. "Let the people watch the Reapings for themselves."

"Oh fine," Claudius grouches. He and Caesar swivel their seats to the right and then the screen fades black. The Panem symbol flashes for a moment, meaning the Hunger Games have begun. Up first was District One; the camera pans out to show all possible tributes for this year's Hunger Games. Peeta is always astounded at the sheer amount of beautiful blond people and the rare brunette or redhead, how they managed such feat Peeta would never find out.

The camera zooms back in to a richly decorated stage, which sits in a crowded lot. On the sides of the stage, Peeta catches glimpses of glistening buildings, their amazing architecture rivaled only by the Capitol. Peeta doesn't care much for it; he's eager to see what kind of tributes were to be reaped. The District One escort recites the reasons for the Hunger Games, the merciful Capitol, children punished for their predecessor's choices, blah, blah, blah; Peeta's impatient. He's heard it a thousand times. Finally, the time has come to pick the tributes. The escort thrusts his hand into a glass bowl (Females go first). His hand nudges few slips of paper before he grabs onto to a lucky gal's. Dramatically, he opens the slip, calling out, "Pearl Jackson!"

A strange silence blankets District One, and then there's a clear shout, "I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" There's minor pushing until a girl, more like a woman, struts on stage. Her vibrant red dress is low cut to display her ample cleavage, her body is curved like a model's, her long, curly, blond hair bounces with each step, and her tan legs seem to go on for miles. In short, she's drop dead sexy.

"Who are you, sweetie," the escort questions, appraising the girl in front of him.

"Glimmer Goldshine!" The crowd goes crazy at the mention of Glimmer's name. Glimmer smirks and curtsies. She stands back to where Cashmere and Gloss are seated, her spotlight gone for now.

The escort regains control easily. He shifts to his left, another glass bowl is filled to the brim with slips of paper. The males. He takes a little more time to choose a tribute, but reads the slip just as dramatically as he had done previously. "Marvel Mirror!" Nobody volunteers this time. Marvel clearly wants to be apart of the Hunger Games and the District boys respect that. Marvel walks onto stage with natural swagger and a pretentious attitude. Peeta can't help, but snort loudly.

"He's ridiculous!" Peeta proclaims.

"Why do you say that, cutie?"

"Because," Peeta rolls his eyes, gesturing to Marvel's image. "Look at him! He acts like Master did when he was ten! Marvel's trying to act like an Alpha male, but he's failing. He's probably a pretty boy who was taught a few fancy tricks." Peeta grins sadistically. "Marvel better drop the act when he meets Cato unless he desires a humiliating whooping."

Peeta ignores Marvel, his focus entirely on Glimmer. District One had a habit of either having airhead blond tributes that died when the Career Pack decided to break up, or ones that were pretty and smart. So far, Cashmere and Gloss were the only ones who had fallen into the category. All tributes after them were dumb bimbos...

"Our tributes!" The escort pronounces. The crowd cheers, and the screen becomes black yet again.

Peeta whips his head around to face his pseudo family. "These tributes are weak, District One is a joke." Peeta chortles and the family gradually joins in. If all Career tributes were like this, Cato had nothing to worry about. Districts Five through Twelve hardly ever posed a true threat. Hmm, the odds so far were in their favor.

District Two, Peeta already seen so, he doesn't pay any mind to the Reaping. Clove and Cato were a deadly duo and Peeta wages that they were to be in the final two. District Three, death during the bloodbath, utterly weak tributes who were smart people, but died ultimately unless they had a field advantage. District Four tributes were nothing to sneeze at. Scrawny twelve-year-old kids. Nothing compared to the Great Finnick Odair that Peeta once had a crush on. He blushes in remembrance at the year he was completely smitten with Finnick.

"What's got you all pink?" Mistress inquires, raising a manicured eyebrow.

"N-nothing," Peeta squeaks.

"Oh?"

"Yep, it's a little hot. That's all," Peeta lies through his teeth.

"I see your lying skills haven't improved, cutie," Hannibal adds in his input. Peeta glares but doesn't say a word. There is no way Hannibal could guess the reason he was blushing anyway.

"Aunt Ruby, this is District Four. Remember when cutie here saw the incredibly talented and handsome Finnick Odair? The way he shushed everyone every time the kid had any camera time. Hell, he didn't let Cato badmouth him and went on a fiery rampage when Cato did, creating long speeches on how awesome Finnick was."

Peeta curses, putting a tomato to shame with his current tone of red. Damn Hannibal, and his stupid deduction skills! He blocks the laughter Mistress and Hannibal were having at his expense, focusing on District Five. Death, he deems until they present their girl tribute. Peeta misses her name, but he nicknames her Vixen immediately. Her face is shaped like a fox. Vixen has an oily smile and her eyes are lit afire with evasive planning and cunning. Her facial aren't just shaped like a fox, she is one. A definite worthy opponent. If there were ever a time, Cato would personally battle Vixen; He needed to be on his toes. Vixen's District partner was a liability. _Bloodbath for him, Peeta_ thinks as they move to the next Reaping.

District Six, a morphling colony. Addicted the powerful substance of morphling, a mighty painkiller that when used in small doses had minor effects. However, when used regularly over a period of time resulted in a rotting mind and flesh. The District Six tributes were bound to be mentored by some drugged out people. They were doomed to die. District Seven, another two easy deaths. They stood no chance in winning, they were weak but not like Johanna's "weak".

"Claudius and Caesar lied. Only one has stood out thus far," Peeta mutters darkly under his breath. District Eight, forgettable. District Nine, glossed over. District Ten, oh my Panem, nothing special or outstanding stood out about them. Would nobody but Vixen, Clove, and maybe Glimmer pose a threat in the Hunger Games? Two more Districts to go, and Peeta guesses they were fated to die early in the Games too.

District Eleven was one of the largest Districts. A camera gleams over the many orchards and fields, choosing to head right to the Reaping. The area was filled with tons of people, unlike most Districts their people tended to lean toward a darker skin tone because they worked outside from early sunrise to dusk. Their men were strong and burly most of the time, and the woman somewhat resembled that build. Eleven's stage certainly wasn't anything special; Peeta easily spots the ancient mentors of the District and the usual grimace every escort wore addressing District Eleven. Pleasantries were quickly said, and the girl tribute was named.

"Rue Mockingbird!" The escort screeches. In the youngest section for girl tributes, they part in half to reveal a small, black girl with frizzy hair, who hesitantly makes her way up to the stage. She's short, but Peeta can tell she's incredibly light on her feet, nimble even. Hiding, climbing, running are her advantages. They'll never be able to catch her, and Peeta's happy about that fact. He isn't sure why, but he has a fierce hope for her to live past the Bloodbath.

"Thresh Farmer!" The escort says in rapid succession just as Rue steps on stage. Peeta's eyes become wide as saucers, and he breathes sharply. District Eleven's male tribute is bigger than Cato, and just as buff! He had the same smooth dark chocolate skin tone as Rue, but their resemblance stopped there. They were opposites physically. Thresh had just become the biggest threat in the Games.

"Fuck," the whole family swore in unison. District Eleven's tributes were a problem this year. Peeta scowls; District Twelve couldn't be like District Eleven. They were the weakest of the weak. Every District had at least two or more mentors, but District Twelve had one, and he was the biggest drunk.

Peeta's former District was finally here.

Effie Trinket, the most flamboyant escort there ever was, saunters across the stage in a ghastly pink outfit complete with sky-high hair to the microphone stand. She welcomed Twelve's residents with a distinct trill and kept an upbeat cheerful persona despite a dead audience. She grabs a slip of paper from the glass bowl with a flourish and signature smile. "Primrose Everdeen!" Huh, Peeta cocks his head just as the District becomes dead silent. The Everdeen's had a new baby, probably a couple months after he left. A cute little blond girl takes to the stage, the camera staunch on her image until it was interrupted by a loud scream:

"NO! NO! I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" The camera spins around to face a tall girl with long brown hair done in a braid. "Please," she pleads. This mysterious girl manages to drag up scant few memories._ Peeta's in a classroom next to a lumpy, blonde girl he immediately names Delly. An unknown teacher asks the class something, and then a small hand amongst the kids in Peeta's classroom shoots up. The teacher beckons the owner of the hand forward. A tiny girl long brown hair and big, grey eyes stands in the middle of the class, and -_

Peeta snaps into the present as Effie introduces the girl as Katniss Everdeen. That's her! Peeta has no lingering feelings for Katniss; she's a mere childhood memory. Peeta can tell she's most likely going to die in the bloodbath or early into the Games. Katniss is as thin as stick from living in poverty stricken District Twelve. There's no way she learned any skills in District Twelve unless she was a coal miner, and rarely did anyone under eighteen work in the mines. Oh well, poor her.

Effie prattles on about how happy she is, witnessing a volunteer in District Twelve. The bubbly escort is oblivious to the deadly glare thrown her way as she dips her hand into the boy's bowl, a large smile permanently pasted to her face. She clears her throat, picking a slip of paper. "Roti Mellark!" She crows, clapping.

"WHAT!" Peeta sits there, stunned. "R... Roti," it's broken up. No, No, No, anyone but his older brother.


	9. Past, Present, and Future

**Hola people, I updated before it became a week. I'm very, very proud of myself. This chapter is the longest I've ever written and I hope all of you will enjoy it. XD In other news, I'm officially in love with Spideypool, so if anybody have any good fanfiction please direct me toward it. ;) Surprisingly, I don't have much to say. Let's get everything out of the way.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own quotes, Charlotte's Web, Romeo and Juliet, and the Hunger Games. I however own Hannibal, please, don't kill him because of this chapter. It's NOT HIS FAULT! O_O If it's anyone's fault blame President Snow... he's always to blame. **

**Thank you to my reviewers, stalkers, favorites, alerters, lurkers, and my BETA, HIME-KOI WHO IS GOING TO MAKE THIS CHAPTER KICK-BUTT WHEN I GET IT FROM HER!**

**Warnings: Bad grammar, humor, two flashbacks, Romeo/Juliet references, Peeta expressing his true feelings (you guys drove me to do it...), overused words, very sappy stuff that happens, Author's poor attempt at creating love because like dude, I've never been in love, an almost kiss, and whole bunch of stuff I don't want to name. **

**In conclusion this chapter is dedicated to _Fadi25402702._ I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, hope you like this chapter. My stomach hurts I need Spideypool (Spiderman/Deadpool) right now...**

**... I'm ready for pitchforks, fire, and whatever. I mean the next chapter totally is from Cato's POV expressing... nah, I shouldn't finish. ;P**

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**Fragments**

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**Chapter Nine: Past, Present, and Future**

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The muted thump is heart stopping, and all I can do is stare at the sight in front of me. Fine, white, expensive flour rushes through a large hole in the bag. It's just a mistake, I try to justify, but Mother won't see it that way. She'll blame it on me. Thinking of her punishments leave me shaking in my boots.

"PEETA!" Mother yells, and I cower instinctively. She's not here. She's upstairs. I'm taking off before I know it. My running path is jagged, as if that will through her off. She's so much bigger than me. One stride for her is three for me. The back door is in my view and my heart is pounding painfully against my chest. All I can focus on is the door. A step forward and a hard push, I'm outside!

There's no time to celebrate. I take sharp turn to the pigsty, climbing the fence. I wave quickly to the smallest piglet, Wilbur, as I make my way across the pen, not at all caring about what's under my boots. I just need to get away. At the far side of the pig pen there's a small opening, which leads to another door.

What's behind that door is my savior. An inaudible click and I slip in. The air is stale and musky. I suppress my cough as much as possible, shutting the door behind me. It's pitch-black in the room. I peddle back against what I presume is the wall, I get around with the feel of my hands taking note of what's the sharp edge of a tool or broken piece of wood and the other items I couldn't name. I just need a place to hide until Mother's forgotten my mistake. It usually takes a day or two.

My hands eventually find a spot where two walls meet to make a corner. I slide down to the cold ground drawing my knees up and controlling my breathing. I'm alone, all alone in a box. There's no light whatsoever. I'm invisible. Mother never will be able to touch me. I'm in my personal fortress, alone and safe.

Minutes pass and I force myself to stay tense and alert as I curl into myself at every noise no matter how small it is, I couldn't risk this chance. A loud creak rips through the air. My breath hitches. I don't breathe or move. How can I? Is it Mother or Rye? Rye will rat me out, and he's not above tricking me to draw me out of hiding. He hates me just like Mother. Light seeps into the room stopping all thought. My eyes narrow and I crouch further down.

"Peeta, come on out! It's okay. Papa and I cleaned it up and took the blame. Momma isn't mad at you."

I perk up. Roti. It's Roti! He'd never lie to me. I dash from my hiding spot, immediately launching onto Roti. He falls back onto the dusty ground, while I sit on his chest. He wears a large dimpled smile, which I return. He looks like the whole family, white-blond hair and dark blue eyes. Papa has it, Rye has it, Roti has it, but not Mother. Mother has cloudy blue eyes like me and she has dark brown almost black hair. I overheard Papa and Mother yelling one day... I look like Mr. Schist whom lives in the Seam minus the eyes in all. I'm different - Mother hates me.

"Peeta get off, you're heavy," he whines. I frown and roll to the side. It takes a minute for him to sit up, and when he does he takes a long look at me. It's a tired look for him, and he's always done it when he stares at me. He erases it, ruffling my hair. I can't control the bubbly giggles from that single gesture. Only Papa and Roti care.

"You can't keep hiding," he says. The giggles die instantly.

"Mother hurts," I answer. The phantom pain of her leather belt is felt against my legs, my arms, my back, and face. It stings.

"Momma... she needs help. Papa's trying to get her help," Roti replies. His hand drops from my head. I miss the feeling. I nudge him with my shoulder, a small smile on my face. He returns it, but it's fake on his lips. I wonder what it looks on mine.

"I not stupid, Roti. You're lying," I whisper. The smile on his lips dwindles as does mine. He shakes his head and slugs an arm around me, he inches closer and for a while we just sit, quiet. I'm focused on the slimmer of the cloudless, azure sky I see from the door. Sometimes, I want to be free with Roti and Papa. No more Mother and no more Rye.

"You're too smart for a five year old," Roti says softly and his smile is gone. He mutters under his breath, while I repeat the same in my mind. He's too smart for a seven year old. He's there when Papa isn't. He sees what I try to hide.

"I wish Mother love me like you, Rye, and Papa," That's my greatest wish. Roti's heard it a million times. He and I share a room. When the lights go off. That's my nightly prayer to the brightest star in the sky_. 'Star light star bright, the first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight...'_

"Some day, she will. She'll see you one day. You have to wait for it, Peeta," Roti says. He's forcing happy. I pat him on his leg firmly.

"Roti lying again," I reply. Roti's snickers are borderline crazy as our mine. We snicker falling over each other, struggling not to choke on our own spit. There's no reason for our sudden elation, but we take what we can get. Our snickers last till we're holding each other by our backs.

"I know I am Peeta, but the best lies are made from truth," he says. He rolls his head and stands up, grabbing onto my arm so I don't fall over. I stand up with him, coming only to his shoulders. "Let's go back," the fingers around my arm slip down my hand and they intertwine together. He leads me to the door, step by step. I hate how it echoes.

"I wish I can stay here forever," I say lowly but Roti hears. We're outside now, the sun beats down on us and I can hear the pigs slopping about. I envy their simple lifestyle.

"I'll always be there to protect you, Peeta," he's sincere in his words as he leads me into the pigsty and over the fence back to the baker's house. We stand out back for minutes. Our big orbs stare at the house that hides so many secrets. If I didn't live there - I don't know if I believe it.

"Let's go," he says, leading me inside.

'I'll always protect you' Roti's voice caresses my whole being and I wrap my arm around myself afraid to let go. "The best lies are made from truth," I murmur to myself, stepping back inside the house.

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"...Cutie... oh... for Panem's sake... PEETA!"

Peeta gasps in a lungful of air. His attention is zoomed in on a young man around eighteen summers with stark white hair, blue eyes that can only be compared to the sky, and the way he smiles as he wraps Katniss in a hug. There are dimples. That's all it takes... he's up and he's running away from it all. He ignores the cries of his name; he has to get away.

His surroundings pass by faster and faster until he's outside but he doesn't dare stop until he legs give out and he skids to a halt. He falls to his knees, silent tears stream down his cheeks. He refuses to wail or even sob. He sits in the grass, letting his tears stream until they dry on their own. Cato's in the games and now his older brother, the one who protected him before District Two, he doesn't know if he can handle it.

Weariness weights heavily on him, he drops to the soft grass and stares up into the sky. It's a light purple, the brilliant crescent moon hangs half-mast in the sky. It isn't dark enough to see all the stars, but Peeta can see a little twinkle here and there. The cool night's breeze washes over him, and he can see it. Two wooden boxes nailed shut, accompanied by a simple square envelope. Twelve and Two painted in bold black on the cover of each coffin. There was only one winner of the Hunger Games. Who did he want to come home the most?

His brother or lover? Why did he have to choose? He liked the Games well enough.

Panem, he doesn't know anymore! He's frazzled, he's befuddled, he's confused, and he's - is it too early to have a midlife crisis at sixteen? Roti's involvement in the Games was the last straw to break the camel's back. Cato's volunteering for the Games, Hannibal suddenly coming back while Cato was gone, and just everything, its only been what - two days? Two days for his life to suddenly uproot itself.

He twists to his side, curling up. He breathes in the cool air of the night and takes comfort in the dirt and grass smell that attacks his nose. Perhaps he should do some baking; it never failed to sort out his chaotic thoughts. Peeta jerks his head, he's agreed with himself. He takes a few more minutes to soak in his surroundings before pushing himself in a sitting position. Figuratively, a sudden light bulb flickers on and he realizes where he is.

It's a gradual thing, but a smile makes his way onto his lips. Gods, he hasn't been in this place in forever. The sparse trees are where he played hide-and-go-seek with Cato and Spartacus. The garden gnomes served as either fearsome enemies or seasoned war generals in his fake battles, and over there, his attention flits to the far left, is the little iron-wrought bench where he relaxed with either Cato or Hannibal. Phantom images of his childhood memories appear on the field and he can't help but chuckle lightly as he replays a particularly bittersweet one:

He sits all alone in the field, totally not in the mood for playing. There are picked flowers around him with a palette of different colored petals scattered about. Lyra told him that this would work! The flowers held some mystical powers to tell whether a person liked you or not, and so far all the petals he picked off told him he loves you not. That was just messed up. He picked like twenty flowers. There was no way they'd all came to same conclusion. Those flowers were against him!

He scowls, glaring at nothing in particular. He shouldn't have listened to stupid Lyra anyway. After all she was stuck in some frightening delusion that Spartacus and her were going to get married and have ten kids, all boys, and all of them future victors of the Games. Yeah right, he snorted. Stupid Lyra, stupid flowers, stupid funny-feeling-in-stomach-that-no-matter-how-hard-you-try-never-goes-away-especially-if-he-sends-a-stupid-smile-in-your-direction, and stupid teenage angst! He wasn't even a teenager. He was twelve!

He mutters to himself not noticing when Cato decides to plop down right next to him. "Hey, Puppet, you're sounding insane today," Cato says casually, stretching his arms.

"AHHH!" Peeta jumps a little, his heart racing. "M-Master! What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be training with Narcissus?"

Cato nods breezily. "Mmmm, but Narci had some sudden business to take care of and what's with the sudden inquisition (Peeta knits his eyebrows together at the particular word), you don't like my company or somethin'?" He raised a blond eyebrow.

"I didn't mean it like that, Master. I enjoy your company!" He scrabbles to fix his mistake and to squash the warm feeling arising within him. So far, he only managed to fix his mistake if Cato's easy nod was anything to go by. The feeling though happened to get stronger.

"Thought so. Anyway, what are you doing out here? Why are there so many stems and petals around you, don't tell me you're playing that silly 'I love you, I love you not' girl game," Cato inquires, his eyebrow arching further.

"N-No, Master. Uh, Lyra just left like two hours ago and **_she_** played." He grins a little too broadly, but Cato buys it.

"Thought so," Cato replies and they lapse into silence from there. Peeta tries to come up with several ways to stimulate conversation. However, everything sounds so stupid to his ears and he's pretty sure he's shaking as he steals glances at Cato every now and then. He's so perfect; his only flaw is his arrogance. Peeta loves that Cato has a personality that fills up the whole room. And even though he spent more and more time with the invader girl, Clove, he still finds time for him. Cato's so strong too. He's going to be the absolute best tribute the Hunger Games has ever had. Peeta also loves the way Cato scratches his ear when he's nervous or the way he pouts when he doesn't get his way. He could go on and on with how amazing Cato is, but he has to work in conversation. After all a good relationship starts with common interests- whoa! - Where did that come from? It takes a few minutes before he comes to the conclusion of Lyra. He really spends too much time with her.

"Umm... Err... Master! Uhh, umm, I have a question for you?" Peeta wears a tight smile, inside he's panicking. That's what he comes up with? His question was a question. He messed up. He should've kept his mouth shut.

"Yeah?"

Peeta tenses. Cato's attention is on him. _Think Peeta, think. Wow, Cato's eyes are the color of chocolate_, he smacks himself out of his thoughts. "I like this girl and I was won-,"

"Pretty?" Cato interrupts.

"Hot."

"Tits?"

"Non-existent."

"Brunette?"

"Blond."

"Long?"

"Short."

"Height?"

"Tall."

"Age?"

"Fourteen."

"Academy?"

"Elite."

"Name?"

"Caaaarina!" Peeta catches himself. Whew, that was a close one. "Master, can you answer my question, please?"

"Carina, huh, I don't know anybody in the Elite class named Carina. I'll have to ask around. Nice, that you finally got a crush, Puppet. I was beginning to think you were asexual or something. I'll answer your question and I'll even give you a few tips," Cato laughs heartily while Peeta breathes a sigh of relief. Thank Panem, Cato wasn't the sharpest sword in the sheath.

"Yeah. Umm... do you think I should tell her about my feelings or keep them to myself? I'm afraid of her rejection. She can find someone so much better than me and I really don't think I deserve her. I mean I'm only here to serve," Peeta glances down to the green grass underneath him. He wouldn't know what to do if Cato rejected him.

"Puppet, look at me," Cato commands.

Peeta glances up at Cato, flustered. Cato's completely serious. Why? Cato leans in and Peeta's leans back a tiny bit. Was it him or was it suddenly warm in here? "This Carina better accept your feelings or she'd be the biggest idiot out of all the blondes in the world for not seeing the amazing person in front of her," Cato says, moving in closer and Peeta swears his eyelids are coming down like his are. Their breath mingle together and they're only a centimeter apart -

"CATO!" Mistress yells out of nowhere and the spell is broken. He and Cato scramble from each other. Cato jumps up. He gives Peeta a single fleeting glance before he dashes away, leaving him alone.

"Wait, Cato, I have something important to tell you. See, I've liked you for the longest time and I'm hoping you return my feelings..." his tiny voice carries in the wind as he watches the back of Cato until he disappears from view.

The phantom images dissipate. He'd almost forgotten about that memory. A bunch of what if's filled his mind, mainly what if he and Cato kissed that day and he admitted his feelings. Would things be different in any way then they were now? He knows it's wrong to waste time in the past, but he can't help his curiosity. He sighs, _there's no use_ he tells himself. The past is the past. That's all there is too it. He sighs again, getting ready to get up but as always a certain someone has the ability to stop his current plans and replace them with new ones.

"I thought I'd find you here, cutie," Peeta can detect a smile in the familiar voice.

"Hannibal," he acknowledges. "I thought you be here earlier."

Peeta can hear the quiet shuffle of boots and Hannibal settles beside him. Peeta studies him from the corner of his eye. "You needed time to cool off. I just came to check up on you," Hannibal answers coolly. Peeta can't help the way the corners of his mouth quirk up. "You mind telling me what caused you to run?"

"I might as well. I doubt I can hide anything from you anyway," he licks his lips. "I'm sorry for my outburst but my older brother, Roti, he was there when my father wasn't. Before you and Cato came along Roti acted as my protector. I don't want to see him die but I don't want Cato to die either, and you know there's only one winner of the Games. No exceptions," Peeta replies sullenly.

"I'm sorry," Hannibal says awkwardly.

"Sorry changes nothing, but thanks anyway. I may sound heartless but more than anything I want Cato back," Peeta says, completely serious. Roti's important to him, but Cato is a priority.

"You love him a lot, don't you?" Hannibal says unabashedly.

"I do," Peeta replies truthfully.

"I see," Hannibal's voice is controlled and it betrays little emotion.

"Don't be like that," Peeta snaps, a little irritated. Shouldn't Hannibal be happy for him instead of distant?

"Like what?" Hannibal's voice is still controlled and blank. It drives Peeta nuts. He hates it. He could've handled it if Cato was the one acting like this, but Hannibal's a completely different story. He wasn't allowed to do that to him.

"Like that! Aloof!" Peeta shouts.

"I'm not, I'm merely tired from my trip that's all," Hannibal replies and Peeta can tell its a lie. It's so thin and transparent. Hannibal should know better.

"Don't lie to me. I'm not some child nor am I stupid. You should expect better from me."

"I'm sorry," Hannibal offers.

"No, you're not - at least you're not sorry in regards to being detached whenever I talk about Cato. I can guess you're sorry for stringing me along despite our considerable age difference. You wanna know something though? I love Cato, but I love you too. Do you know how messed up that is? Two of the most important people in my life I have feelings for, although I love one a little more than the other. Can you guess who?"

"Cato," Hannibal says, resigned.

"Wrong," Peeta snorts derisive. "Maybe when I was twelve or early thirteen that would've been my answer but now I know for fact who I hold dearest. The realization was just after Thanksgiving. I don't know if you saw me or what, but I did see you with Octavia. My heart leaped from my chest to my throat in a millisecond; your hands were all over her and I could tell from her flirty little grin and twinkle in her eye, you were whispering sweet words in her ear, giving her false promises of you and her together, perhaps forever, so that you could lead her to a bedroom for a quick romp and then throw her away like a piece of garbage. My heart slowly sunk back down and I walked over there, utterly confident. It wasn't the same where I would be afraid of Cato ignoring me in favor of Clove. As soon as I got over there and stood by your side your hands fell from Octavia and wrapped themselves around me. Your single attention on me... there was no one else but me. I reveled in it, staring into the envious eyes of Octavia and how put out she looked.

She didn't know you like I did. She wasn't your confident like I was, and for sure I knew as she knew when you greeted me, I was your only cutie. I loved those facts. Me, I'm your only one. I didn't have to compete for you. You were mine and I yours," Peeta says, facing Hannibal fully. "You know what else? With Cato I still had to explore and guess with him. Make no mistake when I saw him fireworks still went off and I was immediately in that love-induced state, but with you, how should I say this? It wasn't an intense desire derived from lust, it was more of a favorite movie or book, you know? You've seen it a thousand times. You know every line and every part. Every character inside and out, but you keep watching and watching because you can't get enough of it. It never gets old for you. You see it again and again and still laugh when you're supposed to laugh, you cry when you're supposed to cry, and you gasp in fear when you know the scariest part! That's you, Hannibal. I can never get enough of you even though I know all the good and bad parts!"

"Cutie, I-," Hannibal starts but Peeta shakes his head. He's not done. He has to get it all out, tonight.

"At fourteen, I realized that you were my person. You solidified it. I didn't know what Cato was to me; I liked him but not as much as I liked you. Upon realizing that though, I tried to bury it deep within me. You couldn't find out and Cato most definitely couldn't find out, but then you came while Cato was out for Krypteia. He wasn't there to be my grounder. I tried to push you away. It almost worked until you told me you were leaving. I swore my heart shattered right then and there when you told me that. Do you know how much that hurt? You couldn't leave me - not when I was feeling like this. You always stayed for me and now, you wouldn't... couldn't. You left me with a hard riddle and simple kiss. Really cheesy in my opinion," Peeta says, a grin works itself onto his face.

"How much time did you spend mauling over it?"

"Over two years and then some," Peeta replies, his grin changing into a sad smile on his lips. "You were gone for such a long time and everyday I missed you more and more. Cato tried to take my mind off of you, but he only succeeded a few times for a scant amount of hours. Your little riddle niggled in the back of my mind no matter where I went. I asked tons of questions to all people in the District. I read tens of books, but nothing brought me closer to my answer. I wanted to give up, I really did. Cato and I started a relationship that left the District with a secret smile and whispered 'finally!' everywhere we went. Cato was perceptive, but he didn't quite pick up my true feelings. The closest he got was when the Capitol came to the District with Romeo and Juliet. I was over the moon! The riddle answered, yes!"

I questioned Cato after the play and he and I agreed at points except with Paris. He said Paris and Juliet would've been a boring normal couple and all, but I think he's wrong. Hannibal, you're my Paris. Ultimately you'd be the better choice. There's no doubt in my mind. You've loved me for the longest time and quite honestly I can't imagine my life without you. You're a permanent fixture that can never, ever be replaced. You're the one in my heart. The one I go to bed thinking about every night without fail. I love you, Hannibal, I really do and I don't think I can ever stop even if I wanted too," Peeta confesses, meaning every single word. He aches when he thinks about the next part.

"Unfortunately, the title isn't Paris and Juliet. It's Romeo and Juliet, you and I both know our parts. Cato is my Romeo. I must follow the storyline," he says softly. He pets the grass underneath him.

"Cutie, I-" Hannibal attempts to start again but Peeta continues. This has to be said, and if Hannibal talks it could all potentially derail.

"Paris may be the better choice for Juliet, but she needs her Romeo or rather Romeo needs her to stop him from doing anything too brash, he needs her to take care of him, he needs her to be his biggest support through thick and thin. Romeo needs Juliet badly, he'd never survive without her and Juliet never abandons her Romeo, I won't be the first to abandon mine. How I wish things were different, Hannibal. We would've been so good together. You know it, I know it, and the cosmos know it. When you picked me up from District Twelve we were bound, but what we have must stop. I can't have you messing with me! It'll only hurt you, Cato, and me in the end. I refuse to let that happen! There can be no more subtle tugging from my side or yours. We share a platonic relationship, nothing more and nothing less. Cato's the one I chose. I have too... I want too," Peeta says with a tone finality. He isn't only talking to Hannibal; he's talking to himself. Making a silent promise.

"The best lies are always at least partially true," Hannibal throws back after while, with a small grin of his.

Peeta laughs a little, "Roti once said something similar to that when he found me in the tool shed."

"Your brother is smart then," Hannibal praises.

"He is," Peeta agrees, he's still petting the grass softly. He has to squint to see it, it's darker outside and the temperature is dropping. He doesn't want to go inside quite yet. He has to make sure nothing major has changed between Hannibal and him. He just doesn't know how to check. He frowns in thought. Hannibal moves closer to Peeta, a lone arm snakes its way around Peeta's waist.

"Why do I always have to remind you? It's like you don't even make an effort. Reading you is one of my favorite pastimes," Hannibal says, amused. "Adding to that fact, I know you well enough to tell what your thinking. Cutie, I think you've known me long enough to know that no matter what happens between us I'll always be there waiting in the wings. Nothing will ever change that. I love you in all possible sense. You must understand that. And I'll remind you again; you were mine before Cato's and your mine now. You're **my** cutie and I'll take care of you until the end of my days."

"Really?" Peeta asks in a small voice, an extra dash of reassurance wouldn't hurt anybody.

"Really really, cutie," Hannibal says sincerely. He stands up, pulling Peeta with him. "Now come on, Aunt Ruby's probably worried sick about us and you still have that chocolate batter sitting out. You need to make cupcakes. I've haven't had one in two long years. I think I might die if you don't make some immediately!" Hannibal gives Peeta a pointed look.

Peeta throws his head back and laughs until his throat becomes raw. It isn't funny, but he can't help it, he's feeling insanely giddy at the moment. Hannibal's only two or three inches taller than him, he's lucky that he doesn't have to stand on his tippy toes. He gives Hannibal a kiss on the cheek, hoping that it conveys what it needs to and more.

He pulls back after a minute, tugging on Hannibal's hand. "Let's go, I'll let you lick the bowl."


	10. Chariots and Training

**Dudes, I've got to get something off my chest. I didn't want to update this story for awhile... and I didn't, but if anyone read my previous work or were with my other stories know that I can be gone much longer than like three weeks. However, it wasn't because I had a writer's block because truthfully I have semi-planned this story out, it's because I was angry - mad. Why? I'm mad because I had to end a relationship that I liked, that I was starting to grow on me. I am very grateful for you guys and you're awesome reviews... and if you want I'll start responding to all of you, but this is my story.**

**I wanted Peeta to come to his own conclusions about his feelings about Hannibal and Cato. I wanted him to discern childish love from real love and trust me when I say he was going to do that, but you guys forced my hand. The last chapter... I don't know... I had to end Hannibal's and Peeta's relationship somehow and quite honestly, it really couldn't be like "M'kay, dude, I feel nothing for you. We are over and done," no, because it wasn't like that. Their relationship was special. It had meaning.  
**

**-sigh- Bottom line. I am aware of this being a Cato and Peeta story, like seriously. I am the author after all. However, I did not promise that the characters would not fall for other characters nor did I promise that they would be exclusive only to one person. No offense to Twilight Lovers, but Peeta isn't going to be an Edward... meaning, he isn't going to remain the hundred-year-old virgin that hasn't dated or had sex with anyone outside of Cato. **

**Do not hate Peeta for being a human and liking others. Do not blame Hannibal for trying to remember that he's an adult and Peeta's a kid, he's fighting a moral code set by society. Do not feel annoyed with me for creating a story where characters are mere humans who cannot chose who they fall for. Please.**

**Disclaimers are on the other chapters... I don't feel like doing them today.**

**Hime-koi is an amazing beta who edited this long-butt of a chapter. Any mistakes you read are mine.**

**Enjoy or not.**

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**Fragments**

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**Chapter Ten: Chariots and Training**

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"Cato, darling, if you can just turn this way," a grating voice pleads. I don't bother to listen. I focus on the red and green flames on a tiny racecar. Its minuscule rubber wheels follow a pattern. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down on the expanse of leg not covered in my gladiatorial golden skirt.

"Cato, darling, it'll only take a second. It's imperative your face be powdered," the Capitoline accent screeches against my eardrums. I remain in my position, the plastic car moving at my will. Up and down. Up and down. _**Vroom, Vroom, Vroom**_. It's a guttural sound, low in my throat. Wrong. All wrong, I think. More childish and squeakier my vrooms have to be.

"Darling! The Chariots are in five minutes - up, up, up, darling. You want to be beautiful for your sponsors, right?" Idiotic question the wench has the balls to ask. I couldn't give two hoots about the sponsors. In fact, I want to be ugly for my sponsors and unprepared. If - _**When**_ I win the Hunger Games, I will not be prettied up for a night. I will not be passed around like some prostitute. Up and down. Up and down. The wheels are beginning to leave imprints on my skin.

"Cato, darling, is it possible you're scared? The powder is non-toxic and it's been made for sensitive skin. There's nothing to worry about," her voice oil-like. I am not a child. I will not be patronized. Does she not understand I desire her to be gone? I want her vocal chords ripped out of her throat so she'll never have to ability to speak again. Up and down. Up and down. It's strangely calming. My nerves are shot. My nightmare has only begun.

"Cato, darling, two minutes! Why are you so fixated on such a plain thing? Here, I'll give it back after the Chariot Ride," her voice is like a chameleon, now it's sickeningly sweet. She's so fake it makes artificial look real. I hate her. She's bothersome. No matter how hard I wish, she won't die or disappear. Up and down. Up and down. My breaths go in and out. The synchrony is music to my ears. Up and down. In and out. Up and down. In and ou - repulsively thin appendages wrap around my wrist breaking synchrony. Another dares to lay their claim on my car.

I'm up on my feet, my blood racing. Does she dare? My gaze narrows on her alarmed face. I shake her feeble grip off me using the same hand to wrap around her throat. Pleasure flows through me. It's a perfect fit. How fragile Capitol people are. How much pressure, I squeeze ever-so-softly on her windpipe, does it take for them to, my hold is a teensy bit tighter - her face is a startlingly shade of bright purple, break? She frantically claws at my hand. Oh! How I can feel the air desperately fighting to move past the blockage.

"_**Darling**_," I say. "Can it be that you're scared? No worries though. Everything will be alright, _**darling**_," I grin at her, punctuating darling every time the word slides across my tongue. Her freaky reptilian eyes are starting to bulge. A little more...

"CATO! PUT HER DOWN!" Brutus. I give the hag a sinful smirk and slam her down to the ground. I stand above her as she struggles to sit up on the pristine linoleum, spluttering and coughing. Massaging her precious neck, I sneer. Spineless bug. She glances at me through her freakish neon-light hair that glows. She scrabbles back on the floor, trembling all the while. I take a mocking step forward and she screams in pure terror. A hand is her saving grace; it catches my shoulder forcefully, and drags me back.

Push. I'm back in my metal chair, this time glancing up at a heavily tanned man with several scars running down his face and thinning black hair coupled with muddy brown eyes. He's packed, but he definitely isn't as strong as me. Perhaps in his heyday he might've been. "Yes, Brutus?" I try to play innocent, my little car pocketed under all my gaudy decorative armor.

"Innocent is a not a look you can pull off, Cato," Brutus growls and I laugh. He's right. I'm anything, but innocent. I corrupt the incorruptible.

"Your point being..." I yawn in his face, a blatant show of disrespect. He gets all huffy and puffy and rigid. I doubt that he'll start a fight with me. He isn't nearly as strong as he used to be. I could take him down in an act of pure strength.

"You nearly killed her! What were you thinking!" He hollers and clear spit flies in my face. I don't blink. It doesn't intimidate me. I couldn't fathom why he's angry. My stupid stylist doesn't matter. I'm sure they can replace her easily. I'm the one they really care about. Have you ever heard of the Hunger Games with only 23 tributes in the Games? No. You haven't.

"I wasn't thinking about anything. She touched my token and I reacted. Next time, maybe she'll ask permission before she touches other things. I thought it was a universal lesson all adult-figures taught to children," I say simply. In fact, I have a brilliant idea. "Darling," I address my shaking stylist in the middle of the room. She inches away further but there's nowhere to go. "Have you learned your lesson? You don't touch what's not yours," I coo.

Her eyes dart from side to side, a sign of fear. However, she's not answering. No, No, No, that won't do. I click my tongue disapprovingly. "Answer me. Have you learned you lesson?" I'm whispering but my voice fills the whole room.

"Y-Y-Yess," she whimpers. Her dyed orange lips are pulled into a frown and they're quivering. Poor baby. I snicker.

"See." I turn my attention back to Brutus' shocked face. "She's learned her lesson," I say with an amiable tone. Brutus shakes his head, but doesn't bother to say anything. He just stands there in front of me. I'm fine with that. I twist my chair around, viewing myself in the mirror. My flaxen hair is spiked in a hundred different directions, a brilliant red outlines each piece. I'm dressed in some sort of gladiator outfit, a fake sword with the District 2 Insignia on its handle at my side. I admit to myself I look the Greek God Ares, the feared god of war.

Awesome. I grin at my image before facing Brutus yet again. He's staring at me, this time in such an odd way, his facial expression is blank but his eyes say it all. He's disgusted by my attitude and the way I hold myself. I'm arrogant and cruel like any real Career. I laugh uproariously and he stares at me in confusion. "Attention, Attention, all tributes are to report to their chariots immediately. All tributes are to report to their chariots. Thank you!" the invisible intercom tells us.

I get up, brushing pass Brutus. "You haven't seen me at my worse and I don't think you want to. Remember that, Brutus," I call over my shoulder as I exit the styling room to my destination.

It takes no more than ten minutes to get to the chariot area. Random people are tending to white horses along with cleaning and polishing chariots. My attention immediately latches onto District One's chariot. It's encrusted in precious gemstones, all very shiny and clear. District One's girl, Glamour... Glass... Glitz... whatever her name is, bats her eyelashes at me flirtatiously. I smirk at her, giving her a none too subtle once over starting with her legs and ending at her viridian eyes. She giggles like a schoolgirl, completely ignoring her partner who's seething.

'You mad, bro? Come at me then.' I mouth over to little chump, pointedly ignoring the middle finger he sends me. I make my way over to my chariot, which is designed for what I assumed ancient Grecian or Roman times to go with our theme. Clove is already in her place on the cart, taking the left while I take the right. She notices me when I step alongside her, rocking our transportation.

"You're late," she spits.

"The parade hasn't started. I'm fine," I reply back.

"Humph," she grunts and crosses her arms, looking away from me. I don't bother to say anything else to her. I know I'm not late and I know she's not really mad over that. She's jealous because I decided to respond or rather _**indulge**_ in Ms. Barbie's advances. The chariot lurches forward as the giant mental doors burst open, District One goes first and the crowd is deafening even from where we are.

We're outside in a few seconds, it's surprisingly hot since its nighttime, but I guess that's because of the hundreds of lampposts that surround us. Behind those lampposts sit thousands of people dressed up ornately, screaming our names, raving for us to win their bets. I nudge Clove sharply in her side, nodding at her weapon. She glares at me, but reluctantly follows my lead. She raises an elaborate chain-scythe and I raise my sword. The crowd chants our name as we wave around our props. My heart beats wildly and I let out a war cry.

Clove and I are Ares and Enyo, gods of war. The orange banners, which hung on the lampposts blow with an invisible wind and our fearsome image flickers on it. This is what I'll look like when I come out of the Hunger Games, victorious. I raise my weapon once more and the crowd goes wild yet again. I think I've gained tons of sponsors. The Games are surely in the palm of my hand.

Peeta, I'm co - the thought stops in mid transit. The crowd is overwhelmingly loud. I lower my fake weapon and share a look with Clove. She's just as confused as I am, the chariot carries over to a weird space where there's a large castle-tower thing and the President sits at its balcony. Ba, I don't care about that. My eyes wander over to the fluttering banners on the lampposts; District Twelve Trash replaces our previous images. I'm offended. How dare the Capitol think worthless coal was better than - again the thought stops.

They're on fucking fire. I struggle to school my features but really, it's fascinating. Bright, orange, flames lick at their tight black suits. It streams behind them and admittedly, it makes them look fierce, competition for us. Immediately a sneer crosses my features, competition. Has my mind betrayed me? Since when has District Twelve ever done anything remotely noteworthy in the Games? Pfft, they'll die in the bloodbath. I'll make sure of it.

My hands clamp on my eyes when the Capitol audience shows their enthusiasm yet again. Their hands are intertwined, held high in the air; faux confident smiles decorate their faces. The Capitol loves romance and District Twelve apparently provides that. I cross my arms, eyeing the chariot as it pulls into the lot as the others. District Twelve's slag doesn't bother to even look even my direction, but the boy does.

His azure gaze is smoldering, he's cocky and challenging. He knows he's won over the crowd and he's rubbing it in my face. The smirk curls on his lips and he crosses his arms. Does he want to be the first one to die by my hands? I fix him with my worst glare, but he isn't even fazed. His eyes are wide and his mouth drops open, yet he isn't scared. He's mocking me.

President Snow is talking and for now, my attention turns away from the District Twelve boy. The President jabbers on and on about the honor it is to be in the Games, fight for your lives, win to win, and show the Capitol your worth. Panem, it's just as boring as it is on TV. He sits down and dismisses us afterwards. The Chariots roll to another opening near the tower thing, the room we finally settle in is huge. All the chariots manage to fit in there along with everybody's stylists and mentors, or rather mentor in Twelve's case.

I rip off my chest plate and dump it in front of my stylists, briefly winking at the one who dressed me for my Games. I push passed Enobaria, Brutus, and Lyme settling on him. He's talking to his District partner; they're comfortable with each other, touching arms and all smiley, and happy. Almost makes me hurl. He jerks his head in my direction, the same smirk plastering his face. We hold each other stares before the girl calls his name, walking away.

"Roti!" He winks and goes on his merry way.

Roti, huh? He was the first on my list to kill.

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"Most tributes die of hunger, poison, cold, and the natural elements rather than being killed off by other tributes. The purpose of the training room lies there. Learn everything you can within these three days and maybe you shall die a painless death," she says apathetic. Her curly black hair is tied into her bun and she bares no emotion on her chocolate face. I feel a certain amount of respect from her; she is unlike any Capitol scum I've seen so far.

"You may go," she releases us to the training room. The lower Districts rush toward the stations with frantic faces, they're vermin, the lot of them. Three days of training. What good will that do? I've had fourteen years of training over them.

"Train with your best weapon, learn how to build shelter, create fires, and properly clean animals -," I command the Pack for this year games. District Four isn't included this year; they're nothing but prepubescent weaklings.

"Hey! Who died and made you leader of the pack?" The One boy dares to interrupt me. He holds his arms over his chest, sniffs and raises his head. I wonder… what do I expect to see from this second-rate, spoiled tribute?

"Marvel, I believe your name is," Clove beats me to it, turning to face the kid. "Watch your tongue around Cato here, lest you find yourself on the floor, tongueless!"

"Who are you, shrimp? I could beat you with my hands tied behind my back," he sneers down at Clove.

Clove, however, brushes her dark hair back. "A mere silly boy trying to play adult games. You're going to get yourself killed," she warns, walking away.

"I'll be at target practice," Clove tells us flippantly. I nod over at her direction, happy that at least someone follows orders. The blond chick I still don't know the name of, grins at me. She skips over to my side, her hands trailing my arms. I'm in no mood at the moment for her.

"Tell me what you wish for me to do, Cato," she whispers into my ear. A shiver travels down my spine. I pull back from her, this moron... has she no will to survive? Does she think I'd drop all training to have a two-minute hump? I don't even know her name. "We can get out of here," she still goes on, her hands traveling lower and lower until I grab her wrist in an unbreakable hold.

"Bow and arrows. Go and practice," I command. She stares at me horrified as if she expected me to truly take her request. "Go." She draws back from my person and I breathe a sigh of relief. She mutters something that I do not bother to catch, scampering off to do what I told her. "Good girl," I say under my breath, praising her like a dog, and that is what she is. At last, it comes down to the kid and I. He glares at me, I'm sure, at what he thinks is viciously, but my baby brother Trajan can glare better than that and he's four.

"You glare at me, do you not have to balls to speak your true thoughts?" I jab at the kid. He grinds his teeth and takes a step forward. I can smell his putrid breath and the stinky cologne I recognize as the Capitol's. "Jabberjay caught your tongue, Ms. Prissy?"

I hold his puny glare with a calm gaze of my own. He poses no threat to my person. Ms. Prissy whom stands before me is barely recognizable as dirt beneath my worn leather boots. I turn away from him, it's clear that he would try nothing. My destination is weights. A stride forward; it's sudden. Ms. Prissy jumps on my back, his arms wrap around my throat. My expression does little to change as I hunch ahead, grabbing his shirt and throwing him forward.

He tumbles onto the hard ground and I'm sure everybody is staring at us. I couldn't care less. Ms. Prissy is lucky he is my ally. He tries to sit up from the ground, but I move too fast for him. I press a boot carelessly on his chest, pinning him to ground where he belongs. "Ms. Prissy," I tsk. "Is that all they taught you in District One? How to be arrogant and not know when your superiors stand before you?" I laugh like Ms. Prissy has told me the funniest joke.

"In District Two, they beat the knowledge of subordination in you, and you are my subordinate in every way. At this moment, I could fuck you raw like a bitch for everyone to see. That'll teach you, or," I use my heel to dig into his diaphragm, he draws a sharp intake of breath and he fights to breathe yet again. "I could kill you, right here and now. I don't want a weakling in my ranks." He tries oh so desperately to lift my foot off of him and respond; I simply add in more force. The panic on his face nearly causes my dick to harden. I want the joy in killing. I want to feel the overpowering burn of pleasure to course through my veins at the feel of destroying someone else's life as easily as I would a bug's.

"So, what's it going to be Ms. Prissy - me fucking you in front of everyone here or you dying like a helpless animal? I'm fine with either," I say, increasing my foot power. I can feel his chest trying to rise and fall, the way he struggles to breathe. His eyes tell of panic, for someone to help him, to save his meaningless life from me.

"Pl... eas... e," Ms. Prissy rasps and I let up the teensiest bit.

"Speak up!"

"Please... I... s-so...r.. ry," he splutters.

"For what?" I prompt him, leering over his pitiful form.

"Di... s... obe... yiiing... you," he chokes, squirming under my hold, still trying to suck in air to his depraved lungs. I study his useless form for a minute, really wondering if he would be any use to the Career Pack. It only takes a moment, but I decide as an act of mercy to let him live. Touchy-feely blondie most likely can't do jack, but Ms. Prissy could still be of use. My foot retracts off his chest and he coughs horribly, breathing in deeply. I bend down and pick him up by his shirt, he may stand a few inches taller than me, but I doubt the height difference does anything to boast his ego or lessen the frightened look in his eye.

"What are your skills?" I inquire.

"Spears," he answers breathlessly.

"Good, go to the track and run twenty," I tell him, letting go of his shirt. He stands, subtly shaking.

"B-But," he stammers.

"Ms. Prissy, I believe I gave you an order. Do I have to force you?" I question, the underlying tone of warning is clearly heard. He shakes his head rapidly and goes to the track area, he never turns back to take a glance. Good boy. Doggy number two was trained without much of a hassle. Twenty pairs (not including Ms. Prissy, Clove, or Barbie) of eyes follow me as I go to the weight-lifting station, I don't bother trying to scare them off or anything. I've already rooted a deep seed of fear in all of them. Fear is a weapon I could use to my advantage.

At the training station, the person or whatever, stands far away from me listing off what I have to do and the best form on how to do so. He never makes eye contact with me (a sign of submission) as he hands me heavy discs and weights. I set the weights down, and some of the discs but one. I position myself in a traditional stance set to toss when a deep voice makes me sag. "Mind if I join you?"

I turn to the voice straight to my right, in the other lane. He already has his own sets of weights and such. Roti immediately comes up in my mind, the District Twelve boy. I play uncaring though, "Who are you?" He raises a white-blond eyebrow, that stupid smirk still on his face.

"Aww, Cato, I'm hurt. You don't remember me, dear old Roti?" Roti says in such a manner that makes me want to punch him in the face. He's still mocking me.

"Do you have a last name?" I ask calling somebody by their given name is a form of respect. Why would I want to respect someone that will die as soon as the timer goes off? I don't.

"Mellark," he says after a few moments of silence. The disc slides from my hand and drops onto the ground with a heavy thud. Mellark, that can't be. In Panem, there's only a clan name unique to one family. So, how in the world can this rat have the name Mellark? No one, but my Peeta has that last name. Peeta hasn't mentioned any siblings or his life before he came to District Two. Then again, I haven't asked.

"Mellark," I repeat and he nods.

"Do you have any siblings?" I ask him sharply, he doesn't answer, just nods. His smirk by now has diminished until there was nothing left. "Tell me who they are," I barely restrain myself from saying anything about Peeta. I need answers and he has to be the one to give them to me.

"What's with the sudden interest?" He says defensively.

I shrug. "When I travel around the Districts after I win, I would like to know what families my opponents come from," I respond, indifferently. He eyes me for a while. His stance shifting into tired and defeated. I don't comment on that. In all Districts, we understand family.

"I have two brothers. Rye's the eldest, he's twenty-two. I have another brother. His name was Peeta; he was the youngest one. He would be sixteen," he says, turning away from me.

"He would?"

"He died when I was... I've got to go." He hurriedly walks away from me, his hair hiding his eyes. I just watch his movements, shrugging the Twelve's girl arm off of him, continuing on in an undefined trail. I have a sudden itch to tell him of Peeta. He's fine and happy. Safe.

I bite my tongue though my heart beats madly in my chest. If my little brother, Trajan, was suddenly taken away from me, I would want word of his whereabouts, but here in the Hunger Games, there is no time for niceties. I observe him a little longer his demeanor has significantly changed. No longer does he jest; he stands there lost, his head bent down. And then, as if lightening flashes, too quick to see where it originated from, he flies into a rage.

He's near the weapon station and he grabs a pistol from the table, a dummy in his hindsight. Almost everyone cowers to the ground as he screams, shooting nonstop at the dummy. The bullet races through the dummies' face and chest and if the dummy had been a real person it would be dead at the moment. He has an amazing aim for close-range. I only wonder about his aim from a distance. I don't much care how sick and disgusted he looks when he realizes what he's done. I'm only interested in his surprise power.

Two days I have to coax him into using his newfound ability, two days I have to persuade him to join the Career Pack by any means necessary.

* * *

"I hate to break it to you, Cato, my boy, but I'm straight as a lead ruler," Roti teases me as he rolls over onto his back. He's surrounded by fake grass in a training room where false targets pop up. His handgun lies innocently to his side.

"I'm bisexual. However, I wouldn't take such a scrawny boy to my bed. My cock has standards. You don't meet any one of them," I say with more of a teasing tone then I intend. Roti laughs and gets up from the ground; he puts his gun in his holster, coming to my side.

"Come now Cato, you've been watching me for these past three days. What is it that you seek? I'm all ears," he snickers as he cups his ear, waiting. He has nerve, had it been anyone else, they would be on the ground nose most likely broken. He's different. His personality vaguely reminds me of Peeta when we were younger and carefree. He's something of a personal joy to be around.

"Join the Career Pack. We need your skills," I say, frank. There is no use in beating around the bush. He backs away from me. He holds his hands up, shaking his head.

"I decline. We've become... friends these past few days. That's too much though," he replies. "I'm sorry."

"Sorries mean nothing," I say calmly, expecting that to be his answer. I can't really say I'm sorry for what comes next. "You love that girl, don't you? I can offer temporary protection from the Career Pack and the other tributes."

"Katniss is strong enough to take care of herself!" Roti yells, his fist curls up at the very mention of her name. So, he doesn't care to protect her from sure death. Alright, the boy is headstrong, better than Ms. Prissy and Barbie.

"Your brother then. I offer information on your younger brother. Peeta. Is that not his name?" I taunt. "I can give you all the information you desire. Simply join us until we break apart."

He's silent; a tremor runs through his body alike three days ago. There's only me and him and he wouldn't harm me. He is outclassed and I hold information that he holds dear. His face reveals it all, it's more expressive than I'm used to, but that's a fault that I could use against him when the time comes. "Peeta? He's alive? How do you know of him?" He fires, swooping in closer to me. His nose flares and his eyes grow bigger.

"The very same. He's alive and well, and how I know of him." I smirk beseechingly. "I'm not so sure I should tell you. Unless of course we have a deal..." I trail off.

"I'll join! I'll do anything, just tell me of Peeta, please," he says fervently. Too easy, I preen to myself. And he said that he'd do anything for me. I wonder if that includes killing off his partner. I shake my head, I am no seer. It's too early for these thoughts. I gave myself room to breathe. "Please, Cato!"

"Peeta lives in District Two, he's a close friend," I leave with that, offering no more. I move pass his shaken form. "Sit with us at lunch and forsake the girl. I'll give you other orders in due time," I say. He just nods. Perfect. He's right in my grasp and I intend for it to stay that way.

"See you," I nod in his direction, taking my leave.


	11. Ken Plays with Barbie

**So, I'm back with like a new chapter. Its short but I have two chapters already pre-written and a plan with how this story is going to end. You all might be surprised, you might not. Who knows? Uhh, I don't think I have much to say in this chapter. Let's get everything out of the way. Right now. -deep breath-**

**Warnings: Obscene language, bad grammar(all mistakes are mine. I only have a partial high-school education, don't blame me), random stuff, angry huffy Cato, blue balls, overuse of language, arrogance, and all that mess, uhh, short chapter and stuff. **

**Disclaimer: I disclaim anything recognizable especially the HG. God, I hate the series anyway... no, that's not right. I hate the series and all of the characters minus BeeTee.**

**Review Replies: Anonymous**

**YODELL: I can't exactly make sure that happens. Thanks for reviewing.**

**Guest: Roti does have a pistol. Hey, one guy was allowed a flamethrower. I think Roti can have a pistol. Thanks, I'm glad you like it. Thank you for reviewing too.**

**As usual. I love my alerters, favoriters, reviewers, stalkers, and lurkers. You guys are so awesomesauce. **

**Hey...**

**School starts after Labor Day. Someone kill me. This year is going to be so boring, its only a placeholder... ahhh, I hate math. Wish me luck on my learner's permit test! Yeah! I'm that young. For all you males that may be reading my story, this is a serious question... what the fuck are blue balls? . I don't wanna google it, I might be scarred. You can PM the answer if you want.**

**MY AWESOME BETA HIME-KOI BETA'D THIS. ANY MISTAKES YOU SEE ARE MINE!**

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**Fragments**

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**Chapter Eleven: Ken Plays with Barbie**

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Training has officially ended. The Capitol has us attend a lavish dinner with President Snow and his entourage. It comes as a silent agreement amongst us Districts to act as animals. We bang our silverware and eat as wild ravenous dogs; our mouths are open and food falls from the orifice like rain. We laugh in shrill tones and obnoxious snorts, our jokes are crude and downright dirty. We throw caution to the wind with obscene language and gestures. Our escorts turn their noses at our less than improper dinner manners, but we do not care.

We never let up until President Snow commands us to leave twenty minutes in. Graciously, we thank our hosts, falling over ourselves and spilling food to the carpet. District Eight's boy bows 'clumsily', toppling to the floor with the scarlet tablecloth in his grasp. Glass, drinks, and priceless items crash to the ground. At last does our glorious President Snow stands. "Out!" he roars and we all scramble with a smile.

Once outside all Districts go to their quarters, elation on their once forlorn faces. Even I, who long to see all of them fall to the ground lifeless and cold, is happy to allow them a day of entertainment, a last day if you will. My original pack surrounds me, waiting for further orders. Ms. Prissy and Clove are free to leave but I have business with Barbie. "Cato - " Clove starts.

"Save your self the embarrassment. He's clearly found a better replacement to fuck then some chestless, ugly, freckly bint," Barbie says haughtily. Clove glances at me and I shrug. I couldn't say it isn't true. I wrap an arm around Barbie's waist. We step to the elevator and Barbie cheerfully waves as the glass door shuts us in. She presses the silver button with a bold one inscribed.

Barbie kisses the side of my neck as we make our journey to her rooms. The elevator dings and the glass door slides open. I take in the main area. It shiny and bright with jewels pasted on the light purple walls and paintings full of people dressed in fancy clothes of which I've never seen. The couches are plushy and most likely expensive and it seems everything has an outlying trim of gold. "Beautiful, is it not?" Barbie says airily. She grabs my hand. Her giggles are excruciating to my ears, but I allow them. Barbie is good for one thing.

She leads me to what I presume is her bedroom. I'm not at all shocked to see it as girly and materialistic as her. I shut the door not bothering with the lock. Barbie giggles again. She shimmies out of her emerald cocktail dress and sits on her large bed with only a pushup bra left on. Again, it bares no shock that she doesn't wear underwear, her shaven pussy in full view. She twirls a strand of her long blonde hair with a finger in what I assume is a sexy move for her. I keep myself from showing any outwardly revulsion.

"Tie up your hair in a tight bun, no strand is to be left out," I say leaving no room for comments, either she does this or I leave. The choice is hers. Barbie complies, she needs no mirror only a hair tie and she's ready.

"Happy?"

I nod. Honestly, I rather she cut off most of her hair and the rest to style in a boyish type of look. Her hair color is all-wrong; I wish it were an ashy blond, not some cheap knockoff shade of dirty blond. Adding to that, her body and eyes are all wrong too. Her eyes are a puke-green when they're supposed to be a bright blue. Her body is too curvy and feminine when it needs to be hard and compact, full of muscle. Perhaps, I should've taken Clove to bed. At least she knows to remain mostly quiet during sex this one does not. Barbie takes off her high heels and moves to take off her bra. "Leave it on." I grimace to add effect. Another thing that's wrong were her breasts. Clove has very little breasts and I'm happy about that. It's so much easier to imagine that way. Barbie's breasts are at least a D-cup, I rather she keep them in a hold.

She huffs but doesn't say a word. I walk over to the bed, slipping pieces of my tux off. I stop at my dress pants, hesitating with the belt buckle; I'm in a relationship with Peeta at home. I'd be cheating on him with this girl. Relationships are only between two people, but he doesn't have to know. It's only a quickie and I have blue balls. She doesn't mean an iota to me. In fact, I'll be fantasizing about Peeta this entire time. _I'm doing nothing wrong_, I repeat over and over again, drilling the words into my head. I climb onto the bed and the cotton sheets rustle. I'm aware of every sound. My ragged breathing, the mattress springs squeaking, even the soft purr of ventilation in the room.

Barbie crawls over to me, her red lips pucker but I evade her. Her face buries into the mattress as she falls over. She lifts her head glaring, "Cato. I was only trying to kiss you!"

"I know," I reply simply.

"Then why -,"

"Sex, that's all I want. Nothing more and nothing less. If you can't give it to me then I'll find it somewhere else," I say bluntly. Barbie shouldn't get any ideas of what this was. In two days time we would have our interviews and then we would be in the Hunger Games. The longest a Career Pack had ever lasted was two weeks and a day. A mistake duly noted by all Career Packs after that; in the early games, a lone tribute changed the rules. Careers only lasted a week if lucky. Barbie should know that unless she'd fall under my sword as all others.

She turns to the head of the bed, her head lulls from side to side and her blonde bangs hide her upper face, she spreads her legs and I shake my head. I make a face that would make my baby brother proud. I'm not putting my dick in there. "Turn around."

Barbie snaps up, skeptical. **__****"What?"**

"Turn around," I repeat.

"I can't believe this." She drops back on the bed. "No, Cato! I'm not doing that! Who do you think I am?" Barbie asks. I can't really tell if she's been sarcastic or not. "Cato. I'm not goin-,"

"You're not going to do what?" I cut in coldly, "I thought you were some whore from District One trained to suck cock in order to see your way through the Games. I see how easily you flirt, and shove your fake breasts at anyone who has a dick! Am I wrong?"

Barbie gaps and closes her legs, backing away from me. "Fucking bastard!" she screams shrilly, her delicate fists balling up.

"I'm the bastard, why? Because I rather fuck you in the ass than your rancid, fish-smelling cunt!" I yell right back. "Did I not tell you I only wanted sex? Nothing more."

Barbie laughs hysterically. Her red lips compress. "You have gall, Cato. Gall! I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I'm not fucking stupid!" I snort, but she still raves. "If its sex you want then why not take your partner? She certainly wants you, or what of the lower Districts? I'm aware of your sadistic streak, Cato. You can fuck anyone in these fucking games raw and they would let you. How could they fight you off? Why in the world did you pick me to have sex with you? Do I resemble someone you know? Someone you can't fucking have!"

I stare at her, struck. I'm struggling for words. What can I say?

"Ooh, I have hit a nerve," Barbie cackles. "I bet it's a boy since you rather fuck me in the ass than in the pussy. Dirty blond, porcelain skin, red lips as mine... and what of the eyes. Green or maybe blue? Tell me Cato, who do wish to fuck or perhaps love? We're allies after all," she taunts.

"Shut up!"

"Or what?"

I crawl over to her spot and leer over her, my shadow covers her entire body. Barbie doesn't cower nor does she show any type of fear. Instead she glowers and she sets her face. "I'll kill you first as soon as the pack ends. You won't even get the chance to scream."

Barbie spits on my cheek. The slimy saliva slides down my face. In disbelief, I swipe at my cheek, staring at the clear liquid. I glance up at Barbie and she bares her teeth. "Death comes to us all. I do not fear what is inevitable."

No more words pass between us. I grab my shirt and put on my pants.

Barbie's fucking dead.

"I hope you'll tell your boy of me!" she shouts from her bedroom just as I make it to the living room.

Yes, dead.

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Her hands tremble as she works around me. The minor stylists chitter away as they work on my pants and shoes. My main stylist never stares at me in the eye, as she should. Her touches are but flutters and she finishes as quickly as she started. She snaps her fingers at the stylists on the floor and they all stand, the chatter ceaseless.

"Enough!"

The lesser stylists freeze at her voice. "Show some respect to your tribute! Is he ready?"

"He's perfect," the one with skin that resembles the night sky, crows. His spiky, platinum hair bobbing with every movement he makes.

"I've never seen anyone look better," the one who has white peacock feathers sprouting from her butt, praises, clapping excessively looking like she's won the lottery.

"The fangirls and sponsors will surely go wild," the last says meekly. He's nothing special. In fact I would go so far to say to he belonged in District Three with his geeky glasses and suspenders, not to mention the pocket-protector.

"Fabulous," my main stylist says listlessly. She points to the entrance hallway where all the other tributes, mentors, and escorts are waiting. I enter the hall where twenty-four chairs are lined up on stark white walls. Barbie and Ms. Prissy sit at the front with their crew, whilst my group is beside them.

Brutus, Enobaria, and Lyme don't say a word as I sit beside Clove. Clove on the other hand flips the bird in my direction. She doesn't even face me. That's fine. I only wait a minute or so until Ms. Prissy is called up first. He's dressed up in a tux as all male tributes are except rhinestones are on his coattails.

A large TV screen is set up directly opposite of us on the walls. It turns on and we all watch as the crowd roars at Ms. Prissy's stage introduction. Caesar laughs and pats him on his back. As always he's dressed in his color theme of this year, which happens to be all hues of blue. I don't particularly care to listen to Ms. Prissy's interview.

It'll only lasts five minutes and Ms. Prissy saunters off stage. Barbie's up next. Her style of dress is flirty and fun, all males both straight and bisexual will be drawn to her, but they won't be looking at her, just at her body. Barbie's garbed in a see through piece of cloth barely long enough to be considered a dress. There are hoots and catcalls, Barbie just giggles, answering Caesar's questions with a sultry tone and added in winks. She's nothing if not a crowd-pleaser.

She'll gain a lot of sponsors for a couple of days until she demonstrates her lack of abilities in the arena. Caesar sees her off with a grin and a whistle. Enobaria gestures up with her hand. I stand up and Enobaria fixes my red bowtie, patting me on the back once and then pushing me to the stage. The lights are blinding as I walk up step-by-step-by-step. The crowd goes crazy as soon as they see me, yelling and scream. I even see a few signs held up by some girls.

Caesar chuckles and offers me a seat next to him in a bright red, plush, sphere shaped chair. He makes a motion the crowd to be a silent; the giant black cameras are all aimed at me. "Welcome Cato!" Caesar greets jovially.

"Indeed, it is a welcome."

"So, Cato, you've established yourself among the tributes with your outstanding ten. Are you at all worried about any of the tributes?" He leans forward as if he's genuinely interested.

"Nope."

"Not even Katniss Everdeen who scored a rare eleven?" The crowd 'oohs' and whispers among themselves while Caesar raises a blue eyebrow.

"She is no threat to me," I answer coolly. Inside I'm a bit irritated that people are shacked up on training scores. District Twelve's Girl only got an eleven by fool's luck!

"Uh huh, so tell me about your home life. Family, friends, lovers?" Caesar snickers, waggling his eyebrows.

My posture is relaxed, my gaze blank. I stare at nothing as I answer his questions, trying not to give away too much. "There's nothing to tell, Caesar. I have a mother, father, brother, and uncle. My best friend in the entire District is Spartacus and as for my lover..." my mouth runs dry, a flash of Peeta appears and then it disappears as quickly as it came. "I have one." I smile thinly.

"Who's the lucky girl?"

"I'm afraid my lips are sealed. You understand, don't you?"

"I'm afraid I do! I'll ask no more, let yourself only be worried with thoughts of winning the Hunger Games!" Caesar booms and the crowd goes along with him. Hmm... so, they really do want me to win, and win I shall.

"Thank you for the wonderful interview," Caesar says, getting up from his seat. I stand as he does and shake his hand. "I hope we meet again," Caesar laughs, his weird smile creeping me out.

"Rest assured, we shall meet again because I _**WILL**_ be victor," I proclaim.


	12. Monster

**I've teased you guys long enough. Chapter 12 is finally here. ^^ Now, that school has started for me I barely have time to write and post chapters. However, I pray that I finish this story by the tenth of December. I already have the last chapter sort of written out. :D**

**Have any of guys seen Merlin?! Arthur and Merlin sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g. Gwen is Arthur's coverup and Merlin's ears are adorable on so many levels.**

**Thanks to all the guys who answered my question- last chapter. **

**Ugh - Ok~.**

**MangoMagic - Thankies! I'm glad you like the reference. Despite me using it, I the R&J references is so overrated. Everybody uses it. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognizable, dammit. Why in the world why I want this series. I might want Lion King, but damn I want the Naruto series. Sasuke and Naruto belong together.**

**Warnings: Bad grammar and organization, damn! All mistakes are my own(I haven't exactly word-approved it yet). My awesome beta did an amazing job, love her.**

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**Fragments**

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**Chapter Twelve: Monster**

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I stroll into the eggshell-white Gamemaker control room. All of them scurry around adding the last touches on this year's arena. Personally, it's one of the more dull ones and this year's Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, is extra ordinary and empathetic to the traitors. That's the reason he was chosen. Seneca is an oblivious pawn who plays a deceptively crucial part in my own games. Speaking of Seneca, he's in view. My pace accelerates and in a few steps I stand beside him on the small balcony, overlooking the tens of Gamemakers in their own stations. "Seneca," I greet. He jumps.

"Mr. President," he says nervously. "We're working on hiding the lagoon and setting the force field." I nod politely. He stammers on some more and shifts from foot to foot. _Good_, I think, fear is a powerful emotion.

"Fantastic progress," I answer. "Can I see the tributes?"

He nods frantically, barking orders to the people down below. A nondescript fellow taps on a few buttons and the screen pops up. Seneca orders him to widen the screen enough for all twenty-four tributes to be shown. All the tributes stand precariously on their metal pads, fidgeting in their own small ways. Most of them are nothing special; most likely dying in the chaos to come within the next fifty seconds.

I settle on the Career Pack. Strong bunch. I suspect one of them will win. Although, the girl from One, I suspect, is just for appearance. The other tributes from the lesser Districts are meager, scrawny, and weak-minded. Time ticks down second by second. I can see the signs of nervousness. Two girls bite on their lips, four boys wipe the perspiration off their foreheads, and at least ten heads dart from side to side, speculating who were their allies at the moment and who were the enemies. And most importantly, who were the ones they eventually would turn on and stab in the back for their own survival.

These games are barbaric, I know, but what so many fail to see is that's what makes it so interesting. Why, the Capitol people are so eager for the bloodshed. These games push humans to their extremes. Children who are previously thought innocent and reliant on their parents go to such degrees in order to ensure their own survival. These games bring the ugly and nasty out in people, revealing what lies dormant in the unexpecting every day mortal. It was an intoxicating sight, and I understood how the generations before us were quelled by such a thing.

No matter how the Districts of Panem claimed, they abhorred the very idea of the Hunger Games. I invite them to view human history and their own psyche. Game, bloodshed, and the thrill of the hunt were ingrained in our nature. We, as the human race, were meant to destroy and conquer for our own survival and enjoyment. How whimsically childlike it is to even suggest it, isn't it.

"Seneca, it is time." Seneca hands me a mic and signals for them to start the timer. I hold the mic close and watch the timer, twenty seconds left.

"Tributes of Panem. Fight for your lives and demonstrate your worth to the world. Give the people a show they'll never forget. Good luck to you all, and may the odds ever be in your favor!" I toss the mic to Seneca who fumbles to catch it. I roll my eyes; the boy was never cut out to be a Gamemaker. He was another mindless fool on my chessboard.

Ten seconds...

Nine seconds...

Eight seconds...

Seven seconds...

Six seconds...

Five seconds...

Three seconds...

Two seconds...

One...

Happy Hunger Games.

The cannon rings and Peeta tenses. Mayhem, utter mayhem. Everybody mixes together, Peeta fights to keep focus on Cato and Roti who from what he can gather were headed to the Cornucopia in this mess. The pests are screaming for their friends and dodging their enemies, some even manage to grab backpacks from the ground heading to the forest. The others, Peeta merely sniffs. Clove is already out there, throwing knives with terrifying accuracy at anything that moves. Marvel jabs at his spear at every female in his range, and Glimmer. The beautiful woman from District One dares to sit in the middle of the grassy field, surrounded by fallen tributes, completely unaffected by what's going on around her.

_Stupid_, Peeta frowns deeply. A minute passes, the sea of tributes have parted and only seven or so remain, aside from the Career Pack and his brother. Peeta chatters nervously, why won't his big brother be smart and flee to the looming Pine trees ahead or the golden wheat fields to the left? Four tributes have fallen. All nameless tributes that Peeta couldn't care less about.

Wait, Peeta blinks profusely. Roti? His brother stood beside Cato with an arrogant smile. He mutters a few words to Cato, not heard by Peeta, but it causes him to laugh. Cato tips his head and gestures to Roti and the field in front of him. His big brother confidently steps forward, away from the silver Cornucopia, two black glocks in his hands. Time seems to stop. Clove, Marvel, and Glimmer freeze as the first shot crackles through the air just as a screech accompanies it.

Scarlet red paints the back of his shirt, the tribute tentatively touches his back where the blotch of color was bleeding through. An animalistic sound rips through his throat. Roti doesn't even spare him a glance, another shot rings out and the tribute is dead. No one of the Career Pack moves, Roti does all the killing with such ease that Peeta would think he's been doing it his entire his life. Not one outruns his range, no one has time to plead for their expendable life.

**_Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!_** Peeta jolts at each bullet that embeds itself in each now dead tribute. The once lush green grass so vital with life, now a graveyard of rapidly cooling bodies that never got by a single hour. Peeta is not sympathetic over those who did not care to cling for their lives or too weak to fight, but his brother; he expected him to be innocent and untouched by these matters, flinching at the mere sight of spilt blood but Roti proves him wrong. He clearly has the ability to fend for himself, he sets the standards for the grime of District Twelve.

Peeta feels an overwhelming amount of pride. His brother was strong, he was related to that on the screen and for now, he could enjoy the sight of his brother. And then, Peeta calls it all to a halt. He had forgotton about the pack for a moment. They encircle Roti with Cato at its head and the previous thought of Roti surviving dissipates. If Peeta wasn't in the presence of Cato's family, he'd urge his brother to run and hide. Surely, they were going to kill him. His use was dried up, he slaughtered the competition and now he was a threat to Careers with his skills in handling guns or rather a gun or so he had thought. His thoughts make another 180; Cato gives his big brother a toothy grin. _Huh, that's new._ Peeta leans forward, teetering on the lime-velvet couch he sits on.

"I've been proven wrong for the second time in my life," Cato says and Roti shakes him off, returning the grin from Cato. Peeta doesn't quite know how to feel about this new development. He supposes he should feel somewhere along the lines of content and happy. After all, no one who was important to him was dying. Roti and Cato were on good terms for now, and the rest of the pack were at least friendly to his brother.

"I told you! You need to start listening to me, idiot. Now, you have to answer any five questions I want today. No exceptions," Roti says. He grunts at the now standing Glimmer on the left, heading into the Cornucopia. The Careers follow behind him, Peeta presumes they'll be taking stock as all Careers do after their bloodbath. "Cato, we've got another one! Wanna do the honors?"

Roti emerges from the Cornucopia, a wriggling twelve-year-old in his grasp. His blond curls fly in his face as he writhes in Roti's hold. "Let me go!" he yowls. "Let me go!" Roti shrugs and drops the kid to the ground. The kid whom Peeta vaguely recognizes as the male tribute from Four, becomes an angry shade of pink. Peeta expects the kid to jump and at least try to defend himself, or maybe hightail his little butt out of there, but he sits— opening his wide mouth, undoubtedly to spew out more demands of freeing him. Cato stops all of that, Peeta can't help his smile. He watches him bend down to inspect the kid, who has decidedly become mute as he stares at his death, literally.

_Another worthless tribute bites the dust_, Peeta thinks happily. The kid sits there like an idiot. He's white as a sheet. Small, audible whimpers escape his mouth. Utterly despicable. Did the kid have no shame? No honor? He should face his death like a man and be grateful Cato was the one killing him or should've been grateful. Peeta's eyebrows knit together, he admits Cato does have a habit of playing a bit before he dealt the final blow but with kids he was more... sympathetic. Having said all that, nothing infuriated Cato more than tears. Especially by those old enough to participate in the Games.

Peeta can see Cato glaring holes at the kid. Peeta wonders how he's going to end this kid's life. Would he dare present the extent of his nature to Panem this early? Peeta hopes not. The sponsors were mostly Capitol people after all, although they enjoyed the Games and whatnot they were pampered dogs, likely they were more agreeable to the tributes that extended some sort of mercy to their victims. "He better not be a dramatic," Mistress voices Peeta's current thoughts.

Momentarily, Peeta makes eye-contact with Mistress before he flickers back to the screen. "I say let Cato have his fun! I doubt there's anything he'll do that the Gamemakers or the Capitol hasn't seen before. They aren't going to terminate him," Hannibal says jovially, Peeta can feel his shift in movement on the couch as he speaks.

"Terminate?" Peeta questions. His brother goes back into the Cornucopia for a few seconds to come back out with a golden sheath. He hands it to Cato whom opens it like an excited child at Christmas. He does away with the sheath to reveal a breathtaking wakizashi.

"Yes, cutie. Terminate. You remember Titus, right?"

Peeta raises his eyebrows, blurry images of a pale-skinned boy feasting on human flesh in a snowy tundra drags forward. "Yes..."

"Well, he was terminated by the Capitol because he scared Gamemakers and people alike. He couldn't be allowed to survive. The Capitol gets rid of those who are exceedingly dangerous," Hannibal explains.

"You say it like it's happened before," Peeta says jokingly. In his time, he has seen many grotesque things in the Hunger Games, none but Titus, ever amounted in the explicit killing of another tribute. The Gamemakers never killed a tribute outright.

Hannibal doesn't reply, Peeta hears him sharply exhale and he can feel his stare on him but he keeps his mouth shut. Peeta gives a sidelong look. He's as curious as a cat. "Has it?"

"Aunt Ruby?" Hannibal prompts Mistress who pulls Trajan closer to her body. The toddler busily smashes his racecars together emitting soft engine noises unaware of the world happening around him.

"There's no one here, but you and Stalin (Sir) here, go ahead and tell him," Mistress says, her voice trembling. Sir pats her on the leg, while Hannibal clears his throat, grabbing Peeta's attention.

"Cutie, what I'm going to tell you is told in confidence. You cannot breathe a word about it to anyone unless you risk the family's lives. Cato doesn't even know." Hannibal folds his arms. "The only reason why we know is because our connections to the Capitol run deep. We are aware of certain matters that closely guarded from the public. One of those matters is this one. It's rather important."

"Err, ok, what is it?"

"Are you aware of the Games being censored?" Hannibal inquires.

"Yes," Peeta says slowly, "but they only censor stuff like sex, peeing, and so on. You know, things that really nobody wants to see."

"That's true, cutie, but there's more to it. The Capitol censors any big show of affection or sympathy for those of other Districts. It's a clever ploy to keep all Districts loyal to their own district and creating suspicion and distrustful air to the other Districts that aren't their own. You'll probably be wondering why and the answer is simple. Together the Districts can overcome the Capitol. Apart, they are easy to handle and wouldn't be anything overly difficult to subdue if there happened to be a revolt."

"Okay, that still doesn't explain anything," Peeta says. In the background he can still hear the kid's whimpering. Cato hasn't killed him yet and Peeta's sort of happy. When Cato comes back, he was bound to ask if he had seen his first kill and Peeta wants to say yes.

"Yes, I know you're impatient to see Cato, cutie. Hold ya horses. As I was saying, the Capitol censors those things and they also censor whole Games that couldn't be watched and as far as the next generation is concerned, they never happened. There's even a group of eleven tributes, twelve, if you count Titus that you'll never hear anyone speak of because they were the worse of the worst. A mistake," Hannibal says grimly. "All of them either succumbed to a 'natural' death in the Games, destroyed by the Capitol, forced Gamemakers to make new rules, or killed by another tribute in return for victory."

"What does this have to do with Cato and termination!" his voice raises, taking on a high-pitched tone. In the back of Peeta's mind old memories rise from the crevices. Disorted images of raving, mad people that the world created. He can hear the nightmarish screams and horrifying images words alone cannot explain. How, he wonders, did he forget? Even Finnick's game… they were never aired again because of Her. The conclusion resounds in his head.

"ARGH!" a loud shriek forces Peeta to give his attention back to the tv screen. His mouth drops open just as the cannon fires. The twelve-year-old was kneeling in a prayer position on the grass, a long sword pierces his skull and runs all the way to the ground where it nails the boy in the position permanently. Peeta can spot Cato's wide grin and can hear his deep chuckle. Cato doesn't even give the body a passing glance as he walks away like nothing's happened. Peeta wanders how the Gamemakers will collect his body. Peeta's has never seen anything like it and he's not sure if he wanted too.

The boy wasn't worthy, sure, but death like this?

"That's," Hannibal points his index finger at the screen. Any trace of optimism he may have had was gone. The camera abruptly switches from the Career Pack to the crippled boy from District Ten digging through his backpack.

"A sign. Cato needs to tread carefully. The Capitol is all for bloodshed and death. They aren't for macabre."


	13. Weird Filler

**I totally blame Journalism for this filler chapter and the late update. Gods, I hate editing (I edited 275 words EIGHT times) and I really didn't feel up to editing this chapter. Ugh, I wrote this so long ago too. Newspaper is damn hard, but it shall help my socializations skills. So, I wrote this chapter and my brain was a bit scattered. Its just a weird, fluffy, filler thing. Enjoy. Thank you to all my reviewers, alerters, favoriters, and lurkers. Love you to bits. I hope all you guys who live on the East Coast like me are fine. **

**I'll reply to all reviews today. **

**Disclaimer: I no own anything recognizable. They are belong to their respective owners and whatnot. As for warnings… just a whole bunch of silliness. Oh and Glimmer shall show her strong side soon. **

**Oh read profile, please, tell me if you'd be interested in these stories I MIGHT post. I've always wanted to write a really good Pico(Percy/Nico) story like _XTheSonofHadesX_ has wonderfully done.**

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**Fragments**

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**Chapter Thirteen: Weird Filler**

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"Glimmer, how hard is it too kill someone? Even the rat," Clove waves a hand over at a glowering Roti, "from District Twelve, managed to kill some tributes. We gave you one little girl. How'd you mess that up?" Clove rants, poking Barbie in her ample chest. I agreed with Clove. We had given Barbie the easiest kill and she couldn't even do that. Barbie fidgets, unable to find a defense against Clove, who most likely ruined all of her sponsor offers. Nobody wants to help a weak tribute that'll die after the pack breaks. She's a worthless investment.

"Clove, lay off. Take Ms. Prissy and her back to camp. Me and Roti shall fix previous mistakes," I say, enjoying the flinch from Barbie. Clove opens her mouth to protest but changes her mind at the last second. She snaps her jaw with a click, disappearing into the shroud of trees. Ms. Prissy and Barbie trailing after her. "Wait, Ms. Prissy. Give me your spear." Ms. Prissy subtly pouts, but does as he's told. I smile at his retreating back. I trained my doggy well. How easily he submits to my commands.

I start walking and Roti hurries to match my pace. "Your little band of followers are scared of you," he says thoroughly amused for some odd reason.

"As they should be. Don't you fear me?" I raise an eyebrow and Roti snorts.

"Scared of you? Please, Cato, give me some credit. You maybe some tall dude with hulk-like muscles but inside I know you're a fluffy teddy bear. You wouldn't hurt a fly." Roti snickers, shoving me lightly.

"Teddy bear? A killer teddy bear, yes, but a fluffy one: nope."

"Oh, Cato, you can tell me the truth, no one's around. I know you're a hopeless romantic and you cried when Mufasa died in the Lion King. All you wanna be is Prince Charming. You don't have a drop of killer blood in you. Cato, my boy, I'm sorry for ruining your dreams," Roti says not sounding sorry in the least.

"Woe is me. I'll never be a crazy, psycho killer. What ever shall I do? My whole life is ruined!" I tease.

"Cato, dearest! There are so many options left. Don't fret leave it to Roti. I'll give you direction in life." Roti hangs onto my sleeve, pleadingly. I pry his fingers off, giving him a defeated look. I stare all emo-angstly into the distance.

"I'm afraid it's too late for me, Mellark. Leave me to live as a broken man!" I struggle to hold back my laughter, as is he. I have no idea what we're doing, but I'm having fun. For now, I don't care that we're on TV being watched by thousands of people.

"No! Cato, you must stop speaking like this. We'll find a way."

"Mellark."

"Cato."

"Mellark."

"Cato."

"Mellark."

"Catooo... how long must we keep doing this?"

"Mellllllllllark, until the fangirls start shipping us," I say. Him and I could work. Of course, I'd be the more dominant partner and obviously the bad boy who makes all the girls and guys swoon. I take interest in the bumbling nobody from a lowly District. We'll be in this forbidden romance, which we must keep from the rest of the pack, and simultaneously try to resist our feelings because eventually we'll have to kill each other. Him and I will have long monologues in the forest, expressing our total love for each other and sharing long, expressive glances filled with pure adoration and devotion. Ha, girls eat the shiz up like chocolate. I bet we'd get so many sponsors.

"Catooooooooooooo, I'm straight," Roti whines. I creep closer to him, wrapping an arm around slim waist.

"I can change that, **_Roti_**," I breathe in his ear. My arm drops from his waist and I wink before dashing ahead to the clearing.

The girl that Barbie was supposed to kill lies close to her dying fire. I twirl the spear lazily, coming over to view the damage Barbie inflicted on her. Her small hands clutch tightly at her abdomen, bright-red blood spills in-between the crevices of her fingers. She winces and gasps in pain. Her light brown eyes are filled with suffering. She wishes to die. She won't plead for her life and she won't try to escape. This girl is no fun. Sure, I can play with her for a bit but she'll die so soon.

"This sucks," I say. Roti pants as he stands next to my side. He probably ran to catch up to me.

"What sucks?" he finally asks when he can breathe normally.

"Her! I can't do anything with her. She's practically dead already. Wait a few hours and she'll bleed out," I grumble.

"I fail to see the problem in that. Don't you want her to die?" Roti questions. If I wasn't staring at the girl I'm sure I would see a quizzical expression on his face.

"Of course, I want her to die but its no fun watching someone die. All they do is squirm around, moaning and groaning until they kick the bucket. I want some action out of it. It has to be exciting or somewhat interesting."

"Okay. Well, if she's no fun then jab her through the eye socket or forehead and be done with it. I wanna go back to the Cornucopia," Roti says breezily. He takes a few steps from me. I can hear him sitting down and throwing sticks into the fire. He has a point. I decide to go right for the forehead. I exert a large amount of force as I plunge the spearhead through her skull, the life-giving liquid seeps out of the wound and a cannon fires in the distance. Dead like that.

Boring.

I take a seat next to Roti on the hard dirt floor, I take a moment to sweep away all sticks and tiny pebbles. He and I sit in comfortable silence; the only sounds are the hums of night bugs and the crackling of the fire. I have no patience for quiet and serene times. It bugs me. "Mellark?"

"Yes?" He looks up from the fire to me. I swallow a ball of spit. I've never taken notice of it before, but Roti shares a lot of facial features with Peeta. The shape of his eyes, the color of his lips, even his jaw line is similar. A little more than forty-eight hours have passed by and I already find that I miss Peeta and my family more than I thought possible. Roti being here both lessens and helps the pain. I wonder if I were to put a paper bag over his head, effectively hiding his looks...

"Cato!"

"Mmm?" I compose myself, acting as if I hadn't just skittered back at the loud mention of my name. "What is it?"

"I've been calling your name for like a minute. Anyways, I think you were going to ask me something before you gained that freaky misty sheen in your eyes," he replies.

"Ask you something?" I murmur to myself. I scavenge through my thoughts trying to find the question when a light bulb pops up. "Oh, I remember. I was going to ask how did your family come to the conclusion that Peeta was dead?"

Roti's eyes seem to turn darker like the murky depths of the sea. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat, Cato," Roti states coldly.

"That maybe true, but I'm not a stupid cat. I'm human and I highly doubt I'd be killed because of a question." Roti's upper lip twitches for a split second before he lounges out on the compact forest floor. He uses his hands as a sort of support for his head. I stare at him for a while expecting him to blow me off and for me to have to pester him or withhold any information about Peeta until he concedes. Unpredictably, Roti breathes in deeply and then let's it out.

"I was seven-years-old. Peeta and I always got up at the same time in the morning. My mother made sure of it. Imagine my surprise when I awoke in the afternoon to yelling and screaming. Peeta and I shared a room at that time. So, of course, as soon as I sat up in bed and focused the first thing I would look at was Peeta's bed. I expected to find him and I didn't. My mother didn't really like my brother and neither did Rye. Thinking the worst I dashed downstairs into the kitchen where the entire racket originated. I thought Peeta had done something on purpose," -Roti raises his fingers to put quotation marks around purpose-, "again. But as soon as I made my way into the kitchen I was met with the sight of my father, a big man, shivering violently, yelling at my purple-faced mother, who was screeching profanities at him. Rye stood in front of my mother like a personal shield and I couldn't blame him. My father looked like he wanted to smack the living crap outta of her!

"I remember calling for their attention with simple questions. Where was Peeta and why didn't anybody wake me up? My brother stayed quiet. He shot a long look at me. To this day, although he won't admit it, I knew he regretted whatever role he played. Moving on, my father pointed at her, telling me to ask my mother so I did. She stared at me, affronted, as if I had accused her of the most heinous of crimes. And you know what? I did; inside, I cursed her for the chaos without even hearing any sort of evidence. My mother was the witch of the District no one liked her. Not even her family. She kept her silence until my father demanded she tell me and so she did. She reached into her front apron pocket and pulled out a worn leather boot that once belonged to Rye, me, and it was eventually passed down to Peeta. She threw it to me and I automatically caught it, inspecting the little shoe curiously.

"My mother told me that was all she was permitted to keep after the Peacekeepers took him away," Roti says bitterly.

"Peacekeepers?" I couldn't help but interrupt. The Peacekeepers had a role in this? Maybe, the Peacekeepers in 12 were different from the ones in 2. He never heard of Peacekeepers taking away children, especially young children.

"Peacekeepers," he echoes me grimly, "my mother told me Peeta was a no good thief. At five he stole priceless heirlooms and items from around the village. The last straw had been when he stole from the Mayor's house and that was a crime that couldn't be tolerated no matter the age. Apparently, they arrested my little brother in the dead of night to avoid the humiliation for his punishments, a generous act of mercy given to my brother by the Mayor.

"To me the Peacekeepers were nasty and brutish. They killed my little brother because my mother ordered it or they confused him for another boy. Either way, everyone in the family was convinced he was dead. Even when my father talked to the Peacekeepers they stuck with the story." Roti laughs in a raucous manner.

"What happened afterwards?" I was still curious.

"What do you mean?"

"There's more to the story, isn't there?" I prompt, feeling a strange urge to whine like Trajan when he didn't get what he wanted.

"I suppose. My mother pushed my father further and further away every time she opened her mouth about Peeta. She was adamant in the idea of the family being better without him. She claimed we no longer needed the ungrateful, little stealer. We were a happy and normal family, finally, to her. My father rarely was in the house. He was always out and about, the scent of alcohol on his body whenever he came by to check on Rye and me. I could tell he was depressed and wasting away surrounded by memories of my little brother.

"When I was around fifteen my father issued a divorce and got married to Aloe Everdeen when she had been widowed for two years. I gained two new sisters and my mother was left in the house, my father allowed her to stay in the Baker's home whilst he moved myself and him into their home. He was happy when they got married. Way happier than he had been in years," Roti finishes.

"Wait- what about you in the Fire Girl?"

"What about her?" he asks.

"What's your relationship with her?"

"Why do you want to know? Is someone jealous?" he says as he reaches out to pat my hand in a condescending way. I shake him off.

"Keep dreaming!"

"Ouch, someone's touchy," he says with a large grin.

"Mellark, I'm warning you..."

"Ok, ok, jeeze. She's my stepsister and I won't get into anymore details. I may be part of your merry group of followers, but my loyalties ultimately lie with my District and her," he says seriously.

"I wouldn't expect any less of you," I say with a semblance of respect.

"Thanks. I think." He rolls onto his stomach, his eye color now clear from the dark tone I had seen earlier. "You've had your Q & A time, now it's my turn."

"Fine. Only two questions though, we have to go back to the Cornucopia before it gets dark to the point where we can't see," I relent. I didn't trust those idiots not to do something stupid like put Barbie on watch. Panem knows how that would turn out; I bet she'd be the type to pick up strays just because.

"First question. Does he bake and decorate? He used to watch our father all the time in the kitchen when we were younger and I swear he'd be absolutely enthralled by every tiny action he did!" Roti says, crazily ecstatic as he talked about Peeta.

"That was too easy of a question, Mellark. Crassus, an Avox chef of ours, had basically taken Peeta under his wing as soon as he showed interest in such a skill. Everybody in our District is always up at our house asking for his cakes and such. I swear, the whole main house is hooked onto his sweets," I can't help but grin impishly. He gives me his best creations I silently tack on.

Roti mutters under his breath. I don't catch all of what he says but I can note the sound of pride in his voice. That all goes away when he stares at me, hard. "What?" tumbles out of my mouth, admittedly harsher than intended.

"You said he was a close friend, right?"

I nod slowly, wondering where he was going with that piece of information.

"Humor me then," he demands. "Who are the people my brother's closest too?"

"My uncle and I," I answer back automatically, hoping he doesn't ask me to delve further into details. This was definitely not the time to get into that mess, especially, when I had told all of Panem that I had a girl waiting for me at home. I would not be seen as a liar in the Games. Whatever story I had I was sticking too it.

"Your uncle?" he says skeptically. I imagine Roti to be thinking about an overweight hairy man with a penchant for supple flesh, rounded faces and scarily trustful eyes. Pedo-bear alert, I snicker to myself.

"Yup, my uncle Hannibal. My father was in his mid- twenties and was married off when his brother, my uncle, was born. He's a lot closer to me in age, so, he calls my mother his aunt despite being his sister-in-law. He's a fit dude, rather high up in the Peacekeeper hierarchy," I say, giving Roti unnecessary information hoping to throw him off about Hannibal, Peeta, and me.

"Yeah, that still doesn't explain-,"

I arise from my seat, starting the journey back to the Cornucopia. "We better get back if we want to get any sleep tonight!" I completely change the subject, weaving and zigzagging through many trees. Those types of questions involving Peeta's relationships I would see to it that they'd stayed in the dark. Where they belonged.


	14. Temporary Hiatus

Hi you guys,

Umm... I'm not really sure how to say this, and I'm not really sure** I want to say this**. There are some stories I've had since the very beginning that I don't want to give up, but at the same time I have no clue what I'm doing anymore. My writing style has changed, or my interests have shifted and I'm just not feeling it like I used too. However, that doesn't mean I'll be giving up. I won't give up.** I can't give up** unless I'm absolutely sure that I feel there's nothing I can do as an author for the story. Any questions or comments please PM me. So, until I figure out what I'm going to do... I'm going to hiatus for the following stories:

**_Revised Help._**

**_Fragments_**- I only say this because I'm in the middle of writing the last three or four chapters.

**_Namikazecest Rewritten._**

Till Next Time,

*Chaos' Mistress*


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